Nell (13 page)

Appalled, Nell could only gaze at her. Was this sordid history intended to relieve her fears? It was having just the opposite effect. The housekeeper had as well say exactly what Mr Beresford had said. Who indeed could blame Lord Jarrow for ridding himself of such a burden? She could not keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

‘But you spoke as if you championed him, Mrs Whyte. You called Mr Beresford wicked for making the same accusation. You paint a portrait of a man at the end of his tether. Yet you claim he could not have pulled the trigger!’

‘Nor he couldn’t!’ stated the woman, red with indignation. ‘Upon my word, ma’am, you take me up wrong, indeed you do!’

Nell made haste to apologise. ‘I was shocked by what you told me, Mrs Whyte. Pray go on with your tale.’

A trifle huffily, the housekeeper sniffed. ‘What I was about to come to, Miss Faraday, is that I don’t believe as the mistress was mad. Or if she was, it weren’t that which gave her fits and tantrums. Nor I don’t know what it was, to say truth, only why didn’t she throw them when she was here at the first?’

Arrested, Nell caught her breath. ‘You mean when they were first married?’

Mrs Whyte nodded, her offended manner deserting her. ‘You never saw nothing like that with her at the start. Admittedly, she only stayed the summers, for she couldn’t bear the place. One winter was enough, she said, and his lordship couldn’t blame her for that. Mostly they was in London, staying at the Beresford house. Or winters they’d go to her family’s estates. In the north they was—and I wish as he would up sticks and go there now!’

‘Lord Jarrow?’ But Nell realised as she spoke that it was wrong. She had been too caught up in the tale to think clearly. ‘No, you mean Mr Beresford, of course. When was it that they came back to live here then?’

‘Near three years now. And it weren’t a month or two before he followed. And he’s been here ever since, more’s the pity.’

That this bitter reference was to Toly Beresford, Nell could not doubt. What grounds had the housekeeper for her extreme distrust of the man? Her own dislike made it imperative that she did not allow herself to be ruled by prejudice.
Facts
. Never judge but upon facts, had said
Mrs Duxford, time and again. She did not hold with intuition, feminine or otherwise. But it was difficult not to be swayed by personal feeling—or was it intuition?

‘Yes, I have observed that even Lord Jarrow is not overly fond of his brother-in-law.’

‘Fond? He detests him!’

Nell would not have gone as far as that. ‘How can you know, Mrs Whyte?’

But the housekeeper’s confidences were at an end, for she stood up. ‘I’ve a liking for you, Miss Faraday, and that’s a fact. But there’s some things a body should keep to herself! I’ve said too much already, I don’t doubt. Only it’s a relief to have it out, I’ll say that. I’ve my suspicions, and I know who I’d point the finger at. But I’m not saying nothing more on that score.’

On impulse, Nell rose from her chair and went around the table, seizing the housekeeper’s hands. ‘I have made you betray yourself, and I’m sorry for it. I can only promise you that your trust is justified. I will say nothing of this.’

Her hands were squeezed by the pudgy ones she held. ‘Not even to his lordship?’

Nell released her, attempting to quell the instant flutter at her breast. ‘Least of all to his lordship!’

To her consternation, Mrs Whyte’s gaze became a trifle smug. ‘We’ll see that in due course. But I can see I’m too previous there, so I’ll hold my tongue.’

Upon which, Nell made haste to leave her to her cooking, her emotions in disarray.

The events of Saturday having given her food for much thought, it was not until Nell went to her bedchamber after breakfast upon the following morning—for the dutiful purpose of reading a page or two from the
Bible since she could not go to church—that she remembered the letters from her friends. Feeling horribly guilty, she ran up to the schoolroom and retrieved them from the desk. The rain had ceased, but the day was dull and a trifle chilly. Nell left the schoolroom and returned to her chamber, where she wrapped a warm shawl about her shoulders and settled comfortably upon the bed to read the letters.

But when she spread open the sheet that had been written from Rookham Hall some three weeks ago, its contents threatened to plunge her into instant flight from Castle Jarrow.

Prue was to be married! And to her employer, Mr Rookham! Heavens, was it possible? Could she have read it aright? It was a love match, her friend wrote, unlikely as it seemed. Nell’s mind was reeling so that she hardly took in the effusion that followed, detailing some of the circumstances that had led up to Prue’s extraordinary fortune.

Try as she would, Nell could not prevent the foolish rise of hope—nay, expectation even!—that immediately overtook her on her own account. Why must she be so absurd? That fatal Faraday pride! Merely because Prudence Hursley had achieved the impossible, was she to suppose that her own future could be no less dazzling?
Dazzling.
A choice of word that must prove her descent into idiocy! Dazzling, to be tied forever to this dreadful castle and a man so broodingly bitter that the slightest word was liable to throw him into gloom? It was laughable. Or it would be, were it not so tragic.

Wake up, Helen Faraday! The man was in mourning, grieving for a murdered wife—or riddled with guilt for having done the deed. A circumstance so truly Gothic as
must have sent even the romantic Kitty screaming into the night!

She read swiftly through the preceding letter from Prue, and was further disgusted at the leap of interest that she felt upon recognising from the contents that her friend’s path had been proverbially rough. Very different in tone was this first letter from the second, which bubbled over with happiness and explained the doubts expressed earlier. Doubts that had been happily resolved—in Prue’s case.

Nell was obliged to remind herself several times that there was an unbridgeable gulf between Mr Rookham having doubts of his feelings being sufficiently strong to enable him to engage in a matrimonial tie, and the extreme unlikelihood of Lord Jarrow stepping a second time into a contract that had all but ruined his life upon the first occasion.

But worse was to come. Throwing Prue’s letters aside, Nell turned with relief to Kitty’s. The feeling was short-lived. The first few lines were dedicated to reminding Nell that her other friend had been the only one to predict the future correctly. The next sentences almost threw Nell into strong hysterics.

‘I do hope you have not neglected any opportunity to attract Lord Jarrow’s attentions. Has he yet fallen in love with you? My dearest Nell, you positively must marry him. If you do not, I shall never forgive you for not letting me go to his horrid castle in your stead.’

Nell crumpled the sheet into a ball and flung it across the room. Kitty, foolish Kitty! How little she knew! If only she had an inkling of the effect of her words! Nell dashed a hand across her eyes. She would not weep. Why must her dearest friends be the innocent means of sending her into despair?

She must be glad for Prue’s sake. She
was
glad. No one deserved her happiness more. Dearest Prue. Small wonder her soft heart had won another for her. Who could help loving Prue? As for Kitty…!

Nell drew a steadying breath and shut out further thought. With deliberation, she got up from the bed and went to pick up her friend’s unfortunate letter. She smoothed it out with shaking fingers, but she could not read it to the end. Not yet awhile. She would have to write back—to both of them. Only she must allow time for her abominably stupid feelings to be conquered. Or at least subdued. How long that might take she dared not even guess at. The music, though, was soothing.

A flash of recognition brought her up short. Music?

She stood still, listening. Sure enough, she could hear the strain of some melody. Was it played upon a spinet? It had not the rounder tone of a pianoforte, but rather the tinny sound of an older instrument. Only who could possibly be playing?

Setting aside her letter, she crossed to the door and opened it. The music increased in volume. It was near at hand, perhaps a little way down the corridor, in the opposite direction from her usual route past Henrietta’s room. Nell drew her shawl tidily about her, closed the door behind her and followed the sound.

It was a light little dance tune—of Mozart? Yes, it had his distinctive rhythm. The player was inexpert, but was managing well enough. Nell had judged of so many fingers that she could readily guess at the level of skill. She rounded the tower and saw in a moment that the first door stood open. Without hesitation, she hurried towards it and entered the room, which proved to be a bedchamber.

A swift glance round showed her that it was empty. Then she spotted the instrument set against one wall. The lid was open, but the keys were silent now. Whoever had been playing was no longer there.

F
or a space that felt an age, Nell remained motionless. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rising and a prickle of cold crept across her skin. Gradually the suspension of thought began to ease, and a moment’s reflection convinced her that this was not a supernatural manifestation. Someone had been here. Was still, perhaps?

She darted to the bed and ducked down to peer beneath it. No hiding body rewarded her. Feeling foolish, Nell rose up and looked quickly about. The four-poster dominated the room, but its curtains of dull gold velvet were open. Upon the matching cover, spread across the pillows, lay a cloth of black gauze centred with a long-dead rose.

A dreadful premonition seized Nell. This must be Lady Jarrow’s room!

Her glance travelled across other furnishings, similarly decked with black gauze. Heavens, it was like a shrine! Only the clavichord—Nell recognised it now—had been left unadorned in this manner. Or had the perpetrator of this shocking trick removed it? There could be no doubt that it was a trick. They had made a swift exit, but some
one had certainly been here. She could see nowhere for anyone to hide, for the dresser and the commode were close against the wall, and there were only shutters to the windows. They were open, flooding light into the room.

She stepped softly to the head of the bed and checked behind the fall of curtain. Nothing! Had there been time for someone to leave the room before she entered? Nell tried to recall just when the music had stopped, but she could not place the exact instant. She was sure she had heard it as she came in, but it might have ceased a few seconds before. Only how had they been able to get out?

A horrid thought made her turn quickly towards the door. Had they hidden behind it, and slipped away as she halted? That must have been it. A clever ruse, but not quite clever enough! Whoever did this had reckoned without the inculcation of Mrs Duxford’s common sense into her least susceptible pupil. Nell had ever been far too prosaic to believe in ghosts.

Nevertheless, the episode had unpleasant repercussions. She took an aimless turn about the room, fetching up beside the clavichord and staring at the keys with unseeing eyes. She could not doubt but that the music had been intended for her. Who else would be about on a Sunday at this hour? Hetty was permitted to play in her room, and Duggan would be with her there. Lord Jarrow, who took no account of the Lord’s Day, would be in his study as usual, and Mr Beresford generally spent the day visiting friends—or so she understood. Which left whom?

Mrs Whyte? Hardly. And it was the height of stupidity to suppose that either Keston or Detling—both elderly—could have made the necessary dash between ceasing to play and getting to the door. Nor could Nell imagine the
slightest reason for their doing so. And the fellow Grig was never permitted within the area of the house given over to the use of the gentry, except when he brought the dinner dishes from the kitchen to the dining-room door.

Without thinking, she sat down on the stool before the instrument and spread her fingers over the keys. Someone had wanted her to enter this room. She was evidently supposed to indulge in the absurd supposition that the ghost of Lady Jarrow had been playing! But for what reason? What purpose could be served by the deception?

Recalling the housekeeper’s dire warnings, Nell was dismayed to feel a resurgence of the apprehension that had attacked her earlier. Was there devilry afoot? But how should it concern her?

Then she remembered the episode of the unexplained shawl that time Henrietta had been left asleep in the schoolroom. Left? The significance hit her abruptly. The child had not wandered. Someone had placed her there! Just as they had lured Nell here and then disappeared without trace. She was
meant
to fall into confusion. Were they—whomever it might be—bent upon frightening her? To what purpose?

But that was obvious. So that she would leave. How foolish not to have realised it at once! Whatever they were engaged upon, the governess was in the way.

The logical progression from there sent a chill racing down her spine. If that was the case, then the matter must concern Henrietta.
What could they want with the child?

Hardly knowing what she did, Nell began to drum upon the keys. Notes pattered on the air, half startling her, and she pulled her fingers away. Her breath had shortened, and her mind felt distressingly blank.

‘Miss Faraday!’

Nell leaped where she sat, her nerves jangling violently. Her startled eyes fell upon the figure of her employer standing in the doorway, his hand upon the edge of the open door.

‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’

Both face and voice were irate, and Nell’s heart sprang into life. She got up quickly, her thoughts darting this way and that as she sought for a plausible explanation. Would he credit the truth? Only how else was she to account for her presence in his dead wife’s bedchamber?

‘It looks odd, I know,’ she began.

‘Excessively,’ he agreed curtly. ‘What occasion had you for entering this room? You can see it is disused. What should bring you here?’

Nell’s churning emotions got the better of her. ‘If you will allow me to speak, sir, I will tell you!’

Jarrow hesitated. He had heard with disbelief the jangle of the clavichord keys as he was walking in the direction of his own room. Hastening past his door, he had discovered Julietta’s to be open. Shock had thrown him into fury. The last person he had expected to find was Miss Helen Faraday.

He entered the room, and absently shut the door. ‘Well?’

The governess sighed and sank down again onto the stool. Her gaze dropped from his. ‘It will sound quite mad, sir, but therein lies the problem.’

Jarrow eyed the bent head, the honey-gold hair uncovered. But then she never did wear a cap, he thought inconsequentially. She should do. Those locks were far too disturbing. He quelled the thought.

‘Go on, Miss Faraday.’

She looked up and the frank gaze caught at him. ‘I
heard music playing and followed it. The door was open to this room, but even as I entered the music stopped.’

Yes, it did sound mad. But he could dismiss no oddity out of hand with his brother-in-law in the house. ‘And so?’

He watched the gathering frown upon her brow. ‘I was nonplussed for a moment.’ Her warm smile brightened her face for an instant. ‘No, let us be truthful. I was briefly terrified! However, it was soon borne in upon me that it must be a trick. You will laugh, I dare say, but I looked under the bed and even behind it before I realised that someone could well have exited through the door while I was standing transfixed.’

Jarrow glanced back at the door. It opened inwards from the corner. Yes, a convenient hiding place. He moved to the bed and grasped one of the posts, staring down at the covers. He should have locked this room and kept the key on his person. Not that he had left anything of value in here, which was all that could draw Toly to make a search through Julietta’s belongings—and who else would come in here? But why target Miss Faraday?

‘Where were you when you heard the music?’

‘In my room, sir.’

He looked at her and saw his own concern mirrored in her face. ‘I should be sorry to think that a person in my household was making it their business to spy upon you.’

‘In order to become aware of my movements? I confess it is not a thought that fills me with unmixed pleasure!’

Jarrow bit back a laugh. ‘You take it coolly, ma’am.’

That swift little smile captured him again. ‘There is little point in succumbing to the vapours, or some such
absurdity. Besides, I have ever been known for my lack of sensibility.’ A tiny spurt of laughter escaped her. ‘Berated sometimes. My friend Kitty found me sadly deficient in that area.’

This was too close to home for amusement. ‘You have my sympathy. I know too well the frustration of being thought callous when one cannot enter into the emotional whirlpool that surrounds one.’

The harsh note jarred in the confines of this particular chamber. Nell eyed his darkening features, a catch at her breast. He sank down onto the bed, reaching out a hand to grasp at the black gauze, dragging it out of shape so that it formed into ripples and folds, dislodging the dead rose. Nell’s heart twisted at the guttural bitterness of his tone.

‘God knows I tried! But I loathe and detest these scenes. They make me ill. It was not her fault, for she had no control. Like a spoilt child, demanding and wayward by turns, flying into rages without rhyme or reason, and then falling into pretty contrition so that one must have been a monster to reject her pleas.’

With a gesture of distaste, he released his clutch upon the gauze and smoothed it away from him. ‘Poor Julietta.’

His gaze came up, and Nell saw with pain the clouding at his eyes. She did not speak, although she wondered at his openness. She watched his lip curl, and the dryness entered his voice.

‘You should thank your stars for your position, Nell Faraday.’

Her answer was a murmur. ‘Why so?’

‘You have been spared the eyes of society. The deceits and petty gossip that thrive in it to take advantage of the misfortunes of others.’ A species of passion became rife
in his tone. ‘And so indulge the perfidy of a creature who had always an unanswerable excuse. She did not know what she was doing!’

Nell did not flinch from the haunting agony in the brown eyes. ‘She must have hurt you very much.’

‘Enough to justify her early demise? There can be no doubt it was a mercy.’ His gaze roved the chamber. ‘One would suppose that I am heartbroken. All this welter of black is of Mrs Whyte’s doing. She was fond of Julietta.’ There was a pause, and his hand clenched. ‘I detest the place!’

Searing doubt struck at Nell. He had as well have said that he detested his wife! Did he wish her to believe him capable of murder? Here was all the motive one could desire. Yet all she could feel was the violent pull of compassion that urged her to go to him and offer the comfort of her arms.

Instead, she got up, automatically shaking out the bronze petticoats and gathering her shawl about her. ‘I will leave you, sir. Perhaps it will be the better for both of us if we forget what has been said in this room.’

Lord Jarrow neither spoke nor moved, and Nell quietly crossed the room and left him.

Dinner was interminable. Barred from bringing up the subject of today’s episode in Lady Jarrow’s room, Nell found it difficult to maintain any semblance of normality. Whether it was the presence of Toly Beresford—who, she was persuaded, eyed her narrowly now and then—or the relapse of his lordship into his usual moody withdrawal, she could not say with any certainty. Lord Jarrow’s frankness had made her privy to his secrets, throwing her into a few moments of intimacy from where there was nowhere to go. Neither backward to her proper
status, nor forward. A destination from forward she did not care to contemplate.

Even Mr Beresford was abnormally subdued. His jests were sparing, and for the most part he confined himself to partaking of the viands on offer. The menu had once more reverted to pork, for the quarter of beef purchased from the adjacent farm had come to an end. That the gentleman made no cutting references to it only increased Nell’s conviction that almost everything he said and did was an act. Her distrust of him was growing, and she could no longer conceal from herself that she thoroughly disliked him, which made it the more difficult to pass judgement upon him as against his brother-in-law. Her personal feelings must inevitably interfere. Yet if she was to narrow down the suspects in the matter of the tricks to which she was being subjected, Mr Beresford came high on the list.

She excused herself early, leaving the gentlemen to their port. But instead of going directly to her chamber, she headed for the turret that led to the schoolroom. She had not changed for dinner after that first evening, and the bronze calico was sturdy enough to withstand a short walk upon the roof. It had been misty all day and the stars were obscured by cloud. Nell’s candle flame danced in the uneven air and she was obliged to cup her hand about it to keep it from going out.

Avoiding the route that led to Lord Jarrow’s study, she took a path around the turret and down towards the front of the castle. Halfway along that side, she set her candlestick down in one of the recesses of the battlements and shifting to the next, leaned out a little into the night.

It must be a month since she had entered the castle courtyard, and she had not once set foot outside. Indeed,
she reflected, recalling the date, tomorrow it would be exactly one month. She felt like one of those princesses of the fairy tale, immured in a tower until the prince came to rescue her. Only the prince in this case was himself caught fast. It was tempting to think she might turn the fairy tale on its head and rescue him. From the torments of the past? Nell did not think she had that power. A waste of energy even to think of it. She had a deal better bend her mind to that question she had come up here to solve. Should she stay?

Someone wanted to be rid of her, although the motive was not yet fathomable. If she gave in, who would benefit? Not Hetty, for the child was involved, though Nell could not see how. Lord Jarrow? Nell could not suppose he would be affected either way, so wrapped up as he was in his own despair. She dared not flatter herself that he could be brought to forget only through her agency. The servants? Only Mrs Whyte might miss her a trifle, though that would soon be mended. Which left Nell herself.

Had she a brain in her head she would escape as fast as she could! What purpose did it serve for her to remain in a place where her sanity was threatened by weird manifestations? Where her heart was rendered bleak through proximity to a man for whom she could never be more than a—what? Her thoughts suffered a check. Was she merely the governess to him? No, it was more than that. A companion? A friend? Both were possible, and either would leave her prey to a gnawing emptiness that must destroy her if she stayed.

No, the only safe course was to leave. Which certainty instantly swung her back into wretchedness, for of course she could not leave. If Henrietta was in danger, there could be no question of walking away—which conve
niently permitted her to ignore the added incentive. Heavens, what a self-deceiver she had become!