Miss Ryder's Memoirs (16 page)

"There’s not much of that going on anymore.’’

“I don’t care,” I cried. “I shall have him put a bullet through your heart.”

He shook his head with wounded astonishment. “Would you do that? How very uncomfortable I should be. Do you, by any chance, know whether Robert is a decent shot?”

Far be it from me to admit that my brother could do little with a pistol, though he was fairly accurate with his birding gun. “Never mind that. My reputation would be protected.”

He considered this with wry skepticism. “Nothing about a duel protects a lady’s reputation. In fact, that reality couldn’t be farther from the truth. A duel merely causes everyone to talk about her and wonder what she did to lead some poor fellow on.”

No doubt he was right, but I wasn’t going to listen to any more of his roguish chatter. It was meant merely to intrigue me. And I had no intention of being intrigued by the rascal. I gave one more huff, with my nose elevated to its most exalted height, and stalked from the room. As the door closed behind me, I could hear him laughing delightedly. The fact that he didn’t follow me was cold comfort.

I returned to my room and slumped on my bed, intent on having a good session with myself about what was happening to my heart and my senses. Sir John seemed to have invaded both of them, drat the man. He had come from nowhere, gotten me stirred up, and might disappear at any time. He could even slip away back to London before the Public Day Mama was planning.

And I didn’t know what condition I’d be in when he left. Something told me that I’d gotten far too attached to him in this short space of time. But I told myself, quite firmly, that it was nothing of the sort. Merely one of those sensual attractions that one read hints of in the more lurid novels of featherbrained young ladies such as Amanda, who was forever begging me to listen to just this one passage that I would surely swoon over. Yet here I was about to swoon over Sir John, who had done no more, according to his lights, than flirt with me when none of the rest of the family was around.

Well, I would just have to rid myself of this nonsensical attraction to Sir John. All it would take was resolution on my part. To clear my head and rid myself of some of my spleen, I slipped down the back stairs and headed for the stable. Lofty seemed to sense my disposition and we fairly flew down the trail that led to the spring. This was as far away from the pond as I could get. No use dredging up all those uncomfortable memories.

There was the dull murmur of summer insects and a very light breeze coming across the afternoon fields. I let Lofty have her head and I clung to her like a burr. You can only do that in the country, let loose that way. In London, even in Hyde Park, you had to ride at a very modest pace, never galloping at all. Even here, when I was younger, someone had always accompanied me. But I had shrugged off that restriction years ago.

When we reached the spring I dismounted to stand in the tall grasses and allow her a chance to lap at the cool, fresh water. I suppose I was daydreaming, for my mind certainly wasn’t on any specific thought when I glanced up and saw Sir John, astride Thunder, watching me with an almost dumbstruck expression on his countenance. And there wasn’t the least sign of arrogance or condescension to him in that moment.

Goosebumps sprang up on my arms, and I ducked my head to avoid the intensity of his gaze. There was nothing frightening about him; it wasn’t that. He simply made me feel as if I were the only person who existed in the world, and I was unexpectedly overcome by shyness. Then, quite suddenly, he swung Thunder about and galloped off.

He was good on Thunder. Robert would have appreciated his skill; I was moved by his grace and power. But the moment he was out of sight, I began to doubt my own eyes. He hadn’t spoken or in any way acknowledged my presence, and I began to think that he had been a figment of my imagination. That sort of thing could happen, if you rode out in the heat without your bonnet, as I had done. The gurgling of the spring, the cozy warmth of the sunlight . . .

I felt more confused than ever and sat down on a tussock of grass to consider what was happening to me. Though I stayed there for some time, until Lofty nudged me to get my attention, I reached no conclusions. When I arrived at the stable, Thunder was not in his stall and Sir John was nowhere about.

* * * *

I happened to encounter Cousin Bret in the hallway. He was in a decidedly bad temper.

“Who gave Sir John permission to ride Thunder?” he demanded without preamble. “This is the second time in three days that he’s taken Thunder out.”

“Why shouldn’t he ride Thunder?” I asked. “Sir John is a superior horseman and a great friend of Robert’s. Of course he has our permission to take out Thunder.”

Cousin Bret gave a grunt of annoyance and tugged angrily at the sleeves of his tight-fitting blue superfine coat. “It’s very inconsiderate of you to offer him that privilege when you know Thunder is my choice of your stables.”

“You’re both guests at Hastings and I can’t see why one of you should have exclusive access to Thunder. He’s a difficult horse to manage, but Sir John has more than sufficient skill to exercise him properly.” I considered this a diplomatic way of putting it; I could have told Cousin Bret that we found him only marginally able to control the horse.

He frowned prodigiously. “I think you overestimate Sir John’s skills. He would do well to leave Thunder to me. Especially as I might wish to ride him late in the day and would want him fresh.”

“Where would you ride him late in the day?” I asked, wondering if he would make such a request if it was to go highway-robbing that he had in mind.

His shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. “To visit my friends in Cambridge. To go for a ride. No special reason.”

“I hope you don’t ride him off the road. Robert would be devastated if Thunder injured himself in any way."

“I’m sure you needn’t worry about my riding.” His smug voice and condescending air may not have been calculated to raise my ire. Or they may have. “But I do, every time you ride him,” I snapped.

Cousin Bret was impervious to my snubs. He laughed and walked away from me without further ado. Oh, how I hoped it turned out to be he who was our highwayman!

Chapter 11

It took me a long time to discover where Mama was. Not that there was anything particularly odd about her being in the attics. She was wont to disappear among the treasures of her youth on occasion, and one would find her putting on the bonnets she had worn as a bride and a new wife, posing in front of the mirror.

And talking to my father, sometimes. Repeating conversations they’d once had, or reinventing the pleasures of their courting days. She looked young and pretty then, almost as if she’d transported herself back in time. That day she was seated on an old chair whose stuffing was leaking onto the floor, and a wonderful hat, loaded down like a basket of garden vegetables, sat in her lap.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked, motioning to the confection. “It was my very favorite, I think. Not Harold’s, I fear. He never liked the ones with so much on them. Really, they were terribly heavy and rather hazardous, with their projecting spikes and feathers. One had to take special care. They used to make the most amazing likenesses of flowers and fruits and leafy things. A goat would have thought it the most wonderful concoction.”

This was the hat she’d worn to have her portrait painted. Sometimes I think she forgot that. But it was in the gallery, the last in a long line of women married into the Ryder family, and she was probably the most striking of the women for the last hundred years. Even in the painting you could catch the hint of her whimsical nature and her otherworldliness. My father had adored the portrait.

“It’s a wonderful hat. But I’m not surprised they went out of fashion."

It occurred to me that this might be the place where the black cape and mask had come from for the highwayman’s costume. Everyone at Hastings knew about the trunks of old clothes. We’d used them on many occasions for dressing up, and for costume parties and local masquerades. I began to dig through the layers of silks and satins and superfine coats, looking for some clue to this mystery.

“What are you trying to find?” Mama asked. The hat had shifted to one side of her head and she looked almost like an actress dressed for a farce on stage. My fingers went instantly to straighten it, to bring back my own Mama. There was something too unsettling about her playing a role.

“I thought we had an old black cloak. Wasn’t it in this trunk? The one Papa wore when he had to ride to his mother’s in the rain?”

Did I imagine it, or was there something evasive about her glance, then? “I doubt if it would have been good enough to keep, after all those years of hard use.” She quickly lifted the bonnet from her head and placed it in the open hatbox at the foot of her chair, along with some others. “Do you think we could make over one of these smaller ones for Amanda? This is such a pretty color, don’t you think?”

If she was hoping to distract me, she was wide of the mark. I’ve never been interested in clothes above half, especially not Amanda’s clothes. “You should ask Amanda. I’m not fond of that color, myself. It looks to soft and girlish. But about the cloak, Mama. I’m sure I’ve seen it in one of the trunks. Perhaps in the larger in the corner.”

“No, I’m sure it’s not here.” She was very firm about this. Much more firm than Mama usually was about anything. “It was thrown away years ago. You remember it from when you were a child, in the years after Harold’s mother died.”

I could be firm myself. “No. It’s been within the last year or two that I saw it. And I doubt if one of the servants would have discarded it without asking permission. So where do you suppose it can have gotten to, Mama?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She fluttered her hands dismissively. “It’s not important. It wasn’t at all a valuable item.”

Definitely there was something amiss with her reaction. Anything that had belonged to my father was almost sacred to her since his death. Unless she was hiding something, she would not behave in this offhand manner. I could feel a hard knot of fear forming in my stomach. I’m not sure that anything I have ever said, before or since, was as difficult as what I said then.

“You know, Mama, that cape could easily be the one the Masked Rider was wearing when I saw him leave the house the other night. Saw him . . . or her.”

She pretended not to hear me. Her hands were folded in her lap and her head rested back against the chair, with wisps of graying brown hair straggling down on her neck. She looked nothing at all like a highwayman.

“Did you know that Sir John had been robbed by a highwayman on the Newmarket Road a month ago?” I asked, pressing her hard.

“Sir John?” Her eyes remained closed, but she found it difficult to ignore this bit of information. “Was he robbed of anything valuable?”

“Enough. Mama, I’m almost sure he has come down here to discover who is to blame."

Her eyes blinked open. A frown settled deep on her forehead. “I think you must be mistaken, my dear. He’s a friend of Robert’s and he has come here to choose a pair of horses for himself and your brother.”

“That’s just his excuse,” I parried. “He has every intention of discovering the identity of the highwayman. And he thinks the highwayman comes from this house. In fact, occasionally he seems to think that I am the highwayman.”

How she laughed. I hadn’t heard her so amused in over a year. “Oh, my dear, he is quizzing you. Don’t pay the least attention. You, a highwayman!” And she went off into gales of laughter.

“Mama, he has every reason to wish to bring the perpetrator to justice. He lost over fifty guineas.”

“A mere bagatelle to a gentleman of his circumstances, I should think. He’s probably only curious. Do you think Robert will come down for the Public Day?”

Her change in direction startled me. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Mama, what are we to do about Sir John’s suspicions?”

“Not take the least notice of them. They are patently ridiculous.” The line of her mouth tightened. “Does this mean that he has no interest in you or Amanda? How sad. And how very cruel of him to toy with your affections. I think I shall ask him to leave.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Whyever not? I asked him to stay, and now I will ask him to leave.”

It was not as simple as that, and Mama knew it, but I could tell that she was upset. Whether this was because Sir John might be about to unearth the highwayman, or because her daughters were being treated shabbily by a gentleman of the
ton,
I could not fathom.

“Please don’t ask him to leave. Perhaps he does have some interest in one of us.”

Her lips softened and she patted my hand. “I see. Well, don’t get your hopes up, my child. I have the tiniest bit of suspicion that Sir John may be what we used to call a lady’s man. Not that I mean to cast any doubt upon his integrity. There are simply some men who cannot seem to choose from among the fairer sex, and spend all their time flitting from one to another.”

She rose from her chair and gazed off into the distance. One hand moved up to pat her hair into place, as the hat had mussed it considerably. “A charming man, to be sure. So very handsome, don’t you think?”

I agreed that Sir John was handsome. I agreed that he was charming. “But he’s also devilishly frustrating and distressing,” I muttered.

I don’t know whether she heard me. “Do be a good girl and put that reticule back in the trunk for me, will you? Wrap it carefully in the cloth so that it won’t get dusty. I’m really so pleased that it’s managed to stay in such good shape for so many years. Do you think we could make the entertainment on Public Day a dress party so that I might carry it again?”

From then on I was unable to divert her attention from Public Day. She would talk about costumes, and the chances of Robert appearing on our doorstep, and whether Sir John was the type of man who would enjoy a masquerade. Just before we left the attics she smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it, dear. Everything will work out just fine.”