Midnight at Mallyncourt (8 page)

He looked up sharply as the door opened and a plainly terrified footman entered carrying a silver tray on which set a glass and a bottle of red liquid. Mouth tight, eyes narrowed, Lord Mallyn tensed, crouching back against the cushions as though ready to spring. All three dogs had leaped out from under the covers and were jumping about in a frenzy, barking furiously as the footman, his face pale, approached the bed. His hands shook visibly. Glass and bottle rattled on the tray.

“Time for your medicine, Lord Mallyn.”

“Out! This instant!”

“But—”

“Are you
deaf
, man!”

The footman began to back away, trembling. Lord Mallyn threw out his hand, seized a jar from the bedside table and hurled it across the room. It barely missed the man's head, shattering into a dozen pieces as it crashed against the wall. Dropping the tray with a loud clatter, the footman darted for the door and slammed it behind him before his employer could hurl something else. Lord Mallyn clapped his hands together, delighted with himself, exactly like a thoroughly spoiled and devilishly mischievous little boy. One of the dogs leaped up to lick his face. He let out another roar. All three dogs vanished promptly, although one feathery brown tail remained outside the covers, wagging vigorously. It was, obviously, a game all four of them enjoyed immensely.

“I suppose you think that was dreadful of me?” he said slyly.

“Isn't that what I'm supposed to think?”

“I have to have
some
fun,” he pouted. “It's so damnably
boring
, being cooped up in bed all day. Nothing to do, day in, day out. The servants know what to expect, lass. They enter at their own risk. That chap—” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you see the look in his eyes? Thought he was a goner, he did! Damme! Quite invigorating! Clark, now—he's my valet, stuffy chap, stiff as a poker—he won't take a bit of it. I'm as meek as a lamb with
him
.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You don't think I can be meek? I can be angelic if I'm a-mind to be. Just don't feel like it very often. You don't approve of me, do you?”

“Not in the least.”

“What? You're not
afraid
of me?”

I shook my head. He looked disappointed, then delighted. Slapping his knee lustily, he let out another hoarse cackle.

“I
like
you, girl. You've got spunk! Vanessa, now, she indulges my every whim. Flirts with me. Teases me. Loves to humor me. You're not about to, I can see that right now. Refreshing, most refreshing! Maybe Edward wasn't such a fool after all.”

“Do you enjoy being a terror?” I inquired.

“Love every minute of it,” he admitted. “I see it won't work with you, though. Damme! You're exactly what this place needs! You and I are going to be
friends
, Jenny!”

“Indeed?”

He nodded, and once more I was reminded of a mischievous child, a little boy with a bright new plaything. That ruined, sunken face with its beak nose and thin lips looked almost youthful with the damp silver locks plastered across the forehead, the dark brown eyes twinkling merrily. He wrapped the crimson silk robe closer about him and settled the quilt more snugly over his legs. The dogs came out, two of them snuggling in his lap, the third resting languorously at his feet. Lord Mallyn and I took stock of each other. He was an outrageous old fraud, but I found myself warming to him just the same.

“You're going to
need
a friend, too,” he said.

“Oh?”

“You've stepped into a hornet's nest, you know. Edward probably didn't bother to warn you. The others—they're gonna hate you. Lyman. Vanessa. Lyman's set on inheriting the estate, thought he had it neatly sewn up, as he knew I wouldn't leave it to a bachelor. Then Edward showed up with
you
. Lyman's right back where he was to begin with. Most frustrating for him, poor fellow—” He shook his head, apparently forlorn, and then his thin mouth spread into another grin. “No, lass, they're not going to take you to their hearts, not at all.”

“I'm sure I'll manage,” I said calmly.

“I'm sure you will, too! Edward's chances of inheriting have just increased by a good fifty per cent.”

“You love pitting them against one another, don't you?”

He nodded, still grinning. “Rascals, both of ‘em. Lyman's a damned hard worker—the whole county respects him. He manages the estate far better than I ever did, though of course I'd never let
him
think that. Works like a farm hand himself, Lyman does, loves the soil. He's always pestering me to make even more improvements, introduce new methods, plant experimental crops. He's a deserving lad, but, unfortunately, as surly as a bear, hotheaded—can't see myself leaving the estate to
him!
”

“And Edward?” I inquired.

“He's just as bad,” the old man said, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Cold as an iceberg, that one, unfeeling. Elegant, polished, a gentleman worthy of a fine old house like Mallyncourt, but no fire, no feeling! Sometimes I wish he had some of Lyman's hot blood, wish he'd let loose and fight with me, but no, he's always controlled. He knows how to get around me, he thinks, thinks he has me fooled, thinks he's the favored one just because the two of us don't have shouting matches like Lyman and I do.”

If he hoped to rile me by criticizing Edward, he was mistaken. Lord Mallyn's opinion of his nephew could hardly be lower than my own. I stood up, my emerald satin skirts rustling, and calmly informed him that I had best go on down to the drawing room. The old man looked disappointed, but he looked tired, too, his face sagging, weary lines about those remarkable eyes. The conversation and his virulent outburst at the footman had taken their toll, his vivacity ebbing away. Leaning back against the cushions, idly stroking one of the dogs, he looked up at me, frail, withered, but still curiously majestic. In his youth, he must have been a dynamo, I reflected. Even now he still retained that incredible presence that made everything else seem pale and lifeless.

“Do you play cards? You do? We'll have some rousing games together. Lettice says I cheat—that child, my one consolation. I'm a lonely, miserable old man, surrounded by souvenirs of the past—” He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the objects cluttering the vast room. “Once I lived to the fullest, savoring each day. There was adventure in my soul! I loved, I fought, I traveled, I dared, and now—now I cling to a mothy old quilt my beloved Sarah made, I look at my treasures, remembering days full of color and excitement when I was young and robust. Now, alas, the only fun I have is bullying the servants and taunting my nephews—” He sighed, looking sad and abject.

“You expect me to pity you, Lord Mallyn?”

“I was hoping you
might
,” he said slyly, eyes twinkling.

“I don't, you know. I think you're a wretched old faker.”

“Really? You're a lass after my own heart! You come back, you hear? We'll chat. We'll play cards. I
do
cheat—I may as well admit it—but I doubt I'll be able to put anything over on
you
, girl!”

“I rather doubt it myself.”

“Go on, desert me,” he said, playing the abject old man again. “Leave me alone with my misery. No one wants to spend any time with a senile old fool doddering on the edge of the grave. You're eager to get back to that handsome husband of yours, I can tell. Jenny—”

“Yes?”

“Be careful, lass,” he said quietly.

“Careful?”

He nodded, frowning. “Edward—you don't know him. You're too good for him. Knew that the minute I laid eyes on you. I like you, lass, and I wouldn't want to see you get hurt. There's going to be trouble.”

He wasn't playing a role now. There was genuine concern in his eyes. He looked almost frightened.

“What—what makes you say that?” I asked.

“Those boys hate each other. Always have. Things have been building up between them for years. Tension's been steadily mounting, and now—I have a feeling you're going to be a catalyst. I shouldn't be surprised if there was actual bloodshed. Vanessa, you see, and—”

“Vanessa? What—”

“Greedy. Worse than either of them. It's all gone too far. It's my fault. I should never have—”

All the energy seemed to drain out of him. Leaving the sentence dangling, he shook his head and sank back against the cushions, pulling the multicolored quilt up over his chest. The dogs stirred, peeking out with disgruntled expressions.

“You'll be careful?” he whispered.

“I—I'll be careful,” I said.

“I'm an old sinner. It doesn't matter about me, but the child—and you, girl. You should never have come—”

“Lord Mallyn, what are you trying to tell—”

“Weary,” he said, “so weary. Sleep. Oblivion—”

He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling as he let out a deep, raspy sigh. Extremely frustrated, I looked down at that thin, emaciated face, and then I moved slowly across the long room. At the door, I turned. Lord James Mallyn was already asleep, snoring quietly, looking much older in repose, looking painfully frail and defenseless. He clutched the quilt in his sleep as though for protection, and the dogs were nestled comfortably about him, one on his legs, one on his shoulder, the third snuggled up in the curve of his arm.

I left the room, closing the door softly behind me.

Candles burned dimly in the hall, casting flickering shadows over the ancient walls. The house was very still, silent. It seemed to be holding its breath, waiting. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The old man had seemed almost senile those last few moments, his mind wandering, but he had hinted at something far more sinister than a feud over the inheritance. As I stood there in the hall, frowning, I had a strong premonition of danger. It seemed to hang suspended in the atmosphere like an almost physical substance, heavy, oppressive, clinging to the walls. The candles sputtered. Outside, the wind roared, causing the windows to rattle in their frames. You're being absurd, I told myself. You're imagining things.

But no matter how I tried to shake it, the feeling of imminent danger remained.

Chapter Five

I
HAD
no earthly idea how to get down to the drawing room. The house was so large, with so many winding corridors, connecting rooms, sudden twists and turns that one unfamiliar with its peculiarities was apt to get lost. I had visions of myself wandering up and down strange halls, going through a labyrinth of rooms, moving up and down narrow, unexpected staircases, but I managed to retrace our steps back to my bedroom, and from there I found my way to the long gallery Edward and I had passed through earlier on, on our way to the west wing apartment. I paused, wanting to compose myself a bit before going down to join the others.

The gallery was surely one of the largest and most impressive rooms in all of England, I thought, awed by its immensity and splendor. Over one hundred and seventy feet long, fifty feet wide, it provided ample room for horseback riding, and I could visualize those earlier Mallyns galloping up and down its length. The ceiling, thirty feet high, was a creamy ivory with connecting scallops and circles molded in pink plaster, now faded a light brownish orange, and four majestic brass chandeliers hung down. The floor was covered with a mat of woven rushes, yellow beige, that made a crinkling noise as one walked over it. The south wall, ivory plaster, had two great brown and gray marble fireplaces, intricately molded, and the rest of the space was taken up by family portraits: seven Vandykes, three Holbeins, a number of Romneys and Gainsboroughs, all in heavy, ornate gold frames. On the north wall were six great window recesses, each one like a small individual room jutting out, canopies of dusty yellow velvet and tarnished cloth of gold hanging above the entrance of each recess. The room was very sparsely furnished, although the chests, tables, the chairs upholstered in yellow velvet were all Chippendale, exceedingly elegant. Candles blazed in twenty or more many-branched wall sconces, but the room was shadowy nevertheless.

Rush mat crackling underfoot, I moved across the room and stepped into one of the recesses, like many-paned glass cages suspended on the back of the house. The recess was dark, and there was a wide window seat stretching around all three sides. I sat down on the padded yellow velvet cushion, causing flurries of dust to rise, and, leaning my cheek against one of the thick, leaded panes, peered out at the immense square of rolled green lawn enclosed by hedges. It was awash with moonlight, the grass silvered, the hedges black, the treetops towering beyond like dark rustling giants in back.

My earlier apprehension had vanished almost entirely. Common sense had finally prevailed. The old man had a sure sense of drama. He was like an audacious, rather hammy old actor, playing his character role to the hilt, and I realized now that his “warning” was probably nothing more than simple playacting. He loved to shock, to startle. Bored, lonely, fretting at his bedridden state, he created his own drama to relieve the tedium, and he had probably hoped to frighten me simply to satisfy a perverse sense of humor. I had been thoroughly duped and, leaving the room, had experienced exactly what he had hoped I would experience. The old rogue probably hadn't been asleep at all. He was probably cackling to himself even now, satisfied with a prank well executed.

The glass was cool against my cheek. I smelled dust and old velvet and damp, crumbling stone. Behind me, the long gallery seemed to yawn like a great cavern. Pensive now, rather melancholy, I thought about these past two weeks. Everything had gone according to plan, and the old man liked me. I sensed that. Edward would finally be able to persuade him to draw up his will, and the five hundred pounds would be mine whether it was in Edward's favor or not. In just a few weeks I could leave, go to London, finally buy that small dress shop and lead a life of complete independence, an unusual feat for a woman in this day and age.