Nina Coombs Pykare (9 page)

Edwina nodded in assent. Living with the gloomy brooding earl and the frosty Leonore must certainly have been an affliction for a man of Crawford’s sociable nature. Surely it would have been most unkind of her to exclude him from any cheerful activities that might go on in such grim surroundings. Besides, she enjoyed his company, and with the girls along there could be no danger in allowing herself to have such company.

So they moved on, at last, toward the front door. Lady Leonore came around a corner and passed them, going toward the stairs, but she didn’t in any way acknowledge Edwina. That was not so remarkable—that she should give the governess what in London they called the cut direct—but the lady didn’t speak to her nieces either. In fact, she didn’t even send the viscount a hard look. With head held high, she sailed on, apparently oblivious to them all.

When the viscount turned to Edwina and winked, she was hard put not to laugh outright. And she couldn’t prevent herself from smiling back at him. The man did enliven the gloomy old castle. There was no denying that.

“I will join you shortly,” the viscount said just before they reached the door. “I need to speak to Mrs. Simpson about a change in the lunch menu.” And he motioned to the housekeeper to follow him a little way down the hall.

Wiggins, who was puttering about the hall, looked surprised to see the girls so soon after breakfast. But Edwina believed she saw the beginnings of a smile on his wrinkled face. “This morning we’re going out to play,” she announced.

Wiggins nodded. “The side courtyard might be best, miss.” He eyed the ball that Constance clutched. “The paving stones there be still clear of weeds. Mostly. There be flowers, too. Some few as I kin keep weeded. You might enjoy to pick some.”

Edwina smiled at this token of acceptance. “Thank you, Wiggins, I shall.”

The viscount joined them again and as the little party made its way to the side courtyard, she felt a bit of happiness bubbling within her. The summer day was beautiful—the sun just warm enough to feel good without causing discomfort, the sky a deep azure blue. It was good simply to be alive. Having a full belly was a great aid to enjoying life, she thought. And the earl hadn’t come out to spoil their fun by ordering them inside again either.

When they reached the courtyard, Constance squealed with delight. Even Henrietta, though her steps remained sedate, seemed to have softened in her carriage. Her back, which had been so rigidly erect, was now more relaxed and, as she walked she looked around eagerly, obviously enjoying the out of doors.

The viscount took Edwina’s arm and, at her questioning glance, gave her a brash smile. “The stones are uneven here. I think you require my assistance.”

The stones looked quite even to her and much less dangerous in the long run than being guided by the viscount, but she hardly dared say so. Therefore she let him help her over the stones out into the courtyard, where just for a moment she wished that she could tempt the earl out into the healing sunlight. But only if he would enjoy it.

“Oh,” Constance cried joyously. “This is my very favorite place to play! Mama used to watch us from up there.”

Was it from up there that she’d fallen, she wondered. Edwina didn’t realize that she had paled until she became conscious of the gentle pressure of the viscount’s hand on her arm. He gave her a reassuring shake of his head. “Not here,” he said, for her ears alone. “It happened on the other side.”

Her breath came out in a great whoosh. She glanced at the girls quickly, but intent on bouncing the ball back and forth between them, they hadn’t noticed anything. With great relief she saw the enjoyment on Henrietta’s face. It was only then that she realized how afraid she’d been that even fresh air and sunshine wouldn’t break down the barrier of melancholy reserve that Henrietta had erected between herself and the world around her.

Edwina swung round to look at the windows that framed the courtyard. Which ones led to the library where the earl brooded, lost in grief for his beloved wife? 

* * * *

In the library, Charles sat up straight in his chair and opened his eyes. He got to his feet and took a turn on the hearth rug. Damnation! He wanted to forget that stubborn chit of a governess and her ridiculous idea that his own daughters feared him. But somehow he couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes and tried to summon up a picture of Catherine, the happy laughing Catherine he wanted to remember, he got instead a picture of the pale damp face of the tenacious governess, her eyes blazing, her chin resolute, as, bosom heaving, she berated him about his utter disregard for his children, his own flesh and blood.

Then, after all he’d said to the contrary, she had defied him, taken the girls into the courtyard in spite of his orders. He could hear them out there now, playing ball from the sound of it. He absolutely refused to watch them. Miss Pierce was wrong, quite wrong about the whole thing. But he didn’t mean to go out and tell her. Not now. He didn’t want to see them, to even think about them.

He slumped into a chair, resting his ringing head in his hands. He didn’t want to think at all. Maybe he should go to Catherine, end this horrible pain by giving her what she wanted—his life.

Snorting, he raised his head. No doubt the redoubtable Miss Pierce would have plenty to say about that, all of it fixed on bringing him to his senses. Or what the chit considered his senses.

* * * *

Out in the courtyard, the viscount drew closer to Edwina. For a moment she found herself wishing that she hadn’t let him invite himself along. It was not that she didn’t enjoy his company. Indeed, she enjoyed it too much. What woman wouldn’t enjoy the attentions of such a well-dressed, well-mannered, attractive man?

It was just that the viscount would expect, sooner or later, to get some return for his attentions. And that could mean trouble. Most men had only one end in mind when they set themselves to be charming to young women with no prospects, and that end wasn’t marriage. She also knew what the loss of her good name would mean. It was, after all, the only thing of any value left to her. So she disengaged her arm and moved slightly away from the viscount.

Henrietta had by now lost most of her reserve and was smiling happily. And little Constance was ecstatic. A few days in the outdoors and the girls would begin to look like ordinary children. Perhaps they would feel like ordinary children, too. Edwina heaved a sigh. If the earl didn’t forbid their excursions.

Suddenly the viscount called out to the girls. “I should like to play, too, if I may.”

Constance held the ball and gave the viscount a critical look. “You must promise not to throw too hard,” she warned. “That isn’t nice.”

“I promise to be very careful.” He directed another of those disarming smiles to Edwina. It was quite impossible to dislike the man, but she knew she must be sensible. The fact that a man liked children didn’t necessarily mean that he could be trusted with a woman’s honor.

“All right then,” Constance agreed, tossing him the ball. “You can play.”

The viscount enjoyed the game, laughing as much as the girls, and, as the play grew noisier, Edwina found herself torn. She hoped the Lady Leonore was disturbed by the noise, much disturbed. It was wrong of her, Edwina knew, but she was quite unable to scrape up any sympathy for a woman who treated her own sister’s children, the children placed in her care, as shabbily as this one had. Practically imprisoning them in their own nursery!

She’d like for the earl to hear the happy noise of play, too, to remember that he had fathered these children. Still, she didn’t want him to come storming out, shouting at her to take the children inside. That would ruin the day for them and for her, too.

But neither the earl nor Lady Leonore appeared. Finally Edwina relaxed and looked around for the flowers Wiggins had mentioned. This courtyard, at least, had been reasonably kept up. She must remember to commend him on his work. Moving along leisurely, she stopped now and then to admire a blossom. It appeared that at one time the whole courtyard had been surrounded by wide beds of flowers. Several of them were empty now, but some still held blooms, probably those plants that had survived over the years. Or perhaps reseeded themselves.

The sun was growing warmer and she paused in the shade of the castle wall to watch the game. When the breeze blew the bittersweet tang of marigolds to her nostrils, she inhaled deeply. Marigolds had been one of Mama’s favorite flowers. She’d just pick a few to take back to the schoolroom.

The closest bed, however, sported only a few blossoms, and she saw a small irregular bed, holding many flowers, near the center of the courtyard. That was the place to pick from. Blossoms from there wouldn’t be missed and the courtyard could keep its festive air for when the children played here again.

Just as she moved away from the wall, out toward the flower bed, there came a great crash behind her. Before she could whirl to see what had happened, something heavy hit her in the back and swept her off her feet.

Chapter Ten

And then she was lying on the paving stones, flat on her back, staring up at the sky, her head ringing, the breath knocked from her bruised body.

“Miss Pierce!” The viscount knelt beside her, his face a study in anxiety. “Miss Pierce, are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t know.” Slowly she raised herself to a sitting position. It had all happened so swiftly, she could hardly gather her wits. She felt her limbs, one at a time, each functioned all right, she felt her head, but found no blood, just a dull throbbing in the back of her skull. “No, no,” she said. “I don’t think so. I seem to be all right. I was just startled by the noise. I lost my balance.”

For the first time she realized the children were staring at her, their eyes wide, their terrified faces pasty white. This would never do. She couldn’t let them be hurt by this. “Really, girls, I’m all right. Come now, smile at me. Come on, smile.”

She was pleased to see Constance give her a tentative little smile. Edwina turned to the viscount. “Tell me, milord, whatever happened?”

The viscount frowned thoughtfully. “A great stone. It fell from the parapet.”

“Fell?” She turned sideways to look up and stifled a gasp. A great stone indeed! It had landed on the precise spot where she’d been standing only seconds before. Some of it had shattered on impact. That accounted for the fragments that had knocked her off her feet. But what was left intact was still quite large. Large enough to crush a person.

If she hadn’t decided to pick those marigolds ... A shiver swept over her, but she hid it from the children. No real damage had been done and there was no point in frightening them further.

“It must have been loosened by yesterday’s storm,” she said. “How fortunate that I had moved.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied the viscount dryly. “How very fortunate.”

“If you will help me up,” Edwina said, sending him a warning look and reaching for the hand he offered her, “I think I had best go in and brush the dirt off my gown.” She glanced at the sun. “In fact, we had all best go in. We have to begin lessons today.”

Constance’s face fell, but Edwina hastened to reassure her. “We’ll play outside every day while the weather permits. I promise you that.”

“No!” Henrietta shouted. “We must not!”

Edwina turned, almost losing her balance again, so that she had to clutch at the viscount’s arm for support. Then, realizing what she’d done, she pulled her hand away. “Now, Henrietta,” she said. “Come, dear, a little accident shouldn’t deprive us of our exercise.”

“It was not an accident,” the child cried, her eyes two violet smudges in a lily white face.

“Henrietta.” Though Edwina was considerable shaken herself, she refused to let any of her fear show. The girls needed calmness, reassurance, not more to worry about. “Whatever are you talking about? Of course it was an accident.”

“No!” Henrietta’s eyes were unusually bright and her cheeks were flushed. “Mama did it. Mama made the stone fall!”

A little whimper came from Constance and she crept closer, to cling to Edwina’s skirt.

“No, Henrietta.” Edwina spoke firmly, determined not to let fear fly away with them. “She did no such thing. It was an accident.”

Henrietta shook her head. “Mama said! No women allowed here. Only Aunt Leonore. Mama said she’ll hurt them. She told me. No other women. Or bad things will happen.”

Edwina pried Constance’s groping fingers from her skirt and held them in her own. “Your mama was a kind and loving woman. She wouldn’t wish to harm anyone. Surely you know that.”

Henrietta shook her head again. “No, she’s angry now. She wasn’t ready to die and she’s lonely.”

Edwina frowned, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart. She had to reassure these girls. But how? “You’ve been dreaming, that’s all. Bad dreams. Come now, we must go inside.”

Henrietta made no more protests, but it was clear from the stubborn set of her chin that she was far from convinced. Nor, for the most part, was Edwina herself. A stone of that size, a stone that had been part of the parapet itself, did not come crashing down of its own volition. Still, she didn’t want to believe Henrietta’s tale that it was the work of a ghost. Experience had taught her that live human beings were usually responsible for the evil in the world. Someone—and that someone a flesh and blood human—had pushed that stone off the parapet. There was no other reasonable explanation. And she was a reasonable person.

As they followed the children back to the front door, Edwina saw the quizzical raising of the viscount’s eyebrow, but she silenced him with a shake of her head. Somewhat to her surprise, he accompanied them up to the schoolroom. There she set the girls to reading. “I shall be back shortly,” she told them.

The viscount followed her back into the hall. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his tone telling her that he’d already guessed.

“I am going up to look at the parapet. I wish to see how the stone fell.”

The viscount frowned. “You don’t even know how to get up there.”

“I shall find out,” she said in her most determined tone. “One way or another, I shall get up there. I intend to look around.”