Sally James (12 page)

Despite all Mary’s efforts to suppress the speculation on who could have attacked Teresa, dinner that night was an uncomfortable meal, for Teresa openly accused Sir Ingram of having attempted to strangle her. The others looked at her in dismay, but Sir Ingram merely laughed.

“You believe what you wish to,” was his only comment, but Belinda immediately sprang to his defence.

“It could not have been,” she declared roundly, “for he was with the rest of us until after you screamed.”

“Oh, you would say so!” Teresa snapped. “You are like Mary!”

Mary cast a startled glance at Sir Ingram, and saw his lips twitch in amusement. But Belinda was not to be gainsaid.

“It is true,” she insisted. “When the guide fell, and the light went out so suddenly, I screamed, and I clutched at Sir Ingram’s coat. I know he was with us. It was after you screamed that he moved away, for I had been holding on to the coat, and it was then that it was pulled out of my hand!”

“It could have been Paul’s coat, or Mr Morris’s,” Teresa answered her.

“Sir Ingram was next to me, we had just been talking. Paul was too far away,” Belinda explained.

It cast doubt on Sir Ingram’s guilt, but offered no more readily believed solution, and eventually they allowed the subject to drop. The visit to Wells Cathedral on the following day was a hurried one, for everyone was anxious to return to Bath, hoping to escape from the atmosphere of doubt, and the fears and worries they could not dismiss.

Chapter 7

When she and Caroline reached home, Mary found a letter awaiting her from her father, and there were also some for Caroline, so they sank into chairs with sighs of relief to read them, hoping to forget the unpleasantness of the past two days.

“Father seems to be having a most enjoyable time,” Mary commented. “He writes that he has met several old friends. This break has undoubtedly been good for him. For years, since my mother’s death, he has been far too absorbed in his books.”

“Does he mention when he plans to return to Appleacre? Not too soon, I trust, for the treatment is of great benefit to me, and I think to you also, of a different nature! I should not wish to lose you.”

“He makes no mention of it. Indeed, he has sent me another draft on his bank, so he evidently expects me to remain here for some time longer. I intend to buy that silk we saw the other day, for we go to so many parties that I need far more gowns than I ever expected.”

“You may as well begin to collect your wedding clothes,” Caroline said with a slight laugh.

“I have not decided to accept Mr Knowle,” Mary said with a frown.

“I am aware that you procrastinate,” Caroline chided her mockingly. “Tell me, you do not believe Teresa’s accusation, do you?”

“I do not want to,” Mary confessed slowly, “yet what other explanation can there be?”

“Either it was Paul, or Mr Morris, or Teresa imagined it all. You know how she can exaggerate the slightest incident into a great drama. I expect she wandered off in the dark, was confused, and then panicked. All due to her vivid imagination.”

“She did not imagine the bruises on her neck,” Mary pointed out.

“No, that I will grant you. I have been wondering about it all day, and think that she could have sustained those when she was struggling with Sir Ingram.”

“Oh, is that possible?” Mary exclaimed, suddenly much happier.

“I think it very likely. That is the explanation I shall offer, for there is no other remotely possible one.”

During the next few days Mary was grateful to have this theory of Caroline’s to give to their acquaintances. It was obvious, the next morning after they had returned to Bath, that the whole story of the incident, embellished with lurid detail, had been spread abroad by the others of the party. Mrs Wright was the first to ask Mary about it.

“I heard that your brother had been found alone with Miss Standish, and that Sir Ingram attacked him,” she said plainly.

“Who ever told you that, Ma’am?” Mary asked, astonished.

Mrs Wright shrugged. “I
think
I had it from Mrs Bellamy, and she said that Lady Ferrars had told her, and she had heard it from Mr Morris himself. Since he had been present, I wondered, though I could not truly credit the tale.”

“You were right not to do so, for it is a complete fabrication!” Mary told her firmly, and gave her Caroline’s explanation, stressing that Teresa and Matthew had been with the rest of the party the whole time. “Mr Morris cannot have said such a thing, and whatever he said must have been distorted in the retelling.”

“You relieve my mind,” Mrs Wright smiled at her. “I could not believe it of either your brother or Sir Ingram.”

“Pray do your utmost to scotch this tale,” Mary begged her.

“Indeed I will, and tell them that I have it direct from you,” Mrs Wright promised.

The rumour persisted, however, and Mrs Leigh taxed Teresa with behaving immodestly. Angrily denying it, Teresa immediately sought out Matthew, and the two of them attracted even more gossip by openly flouting the critics and escaping whenever they could from Mrs Standish’s lax chaperonage to spend their time walking together in Spring Gardens or Stanley Gardens.

Mary, concerned for Matthew, remonstrated with him, but to no avail. He protested that whatever happened, he was determined to marry Teresa, and it was better the whole world should know. She could not bring him to see that unless he and Teresa behaved with circumspection Sir Ingram would not give his consent to their marriage. Matthew persisted in his belief that Sir Ingram had attempted to murder Teresa, and nothing would induce him to consider other explanations. In which case, he pointed out, Sir Ingram would never agree, and so it was unavailing even to try to win his approval.

Eventually he took himself off to ride on the hills, and Mary hoped that the exercise would rid him of his anger, but she knew how Matthew brooded on injuries, and how, when he was convinced of some matter, could hold stubbornly to his opinion.

Sir Ingram conducted himself as though nothing untoward had occurred, and though at first some apprehensive glances were cast his way, he ignored all the hints so blandly, and gave a crashing set down to the one matron so bold as to mention the accusation against him directly, that soon everyone was coming round to the opinion it was all a shocking exaggeration.

Mary had not seen much of Teresa, apart from meeting her in the Pump Room, until one evening when Mrs Leigh gave a dress party. This was to be a much grander affair than the previous one, and would include many of the new acquaintances she had made in Bath. Mary found herself to be unduly nervous as the time approached, and fussed about the arrangement of her hair in a most uncharacteristic fashion.

“I have my doubts about this gown, Caroline,” she said worriedly when she was finally ready. “The neck has been cut far too low.”

“Nonsense,” Caroline replied. “It becomes you exceedingly well.”

Indeed Mary looked very fine. The pearl coloured silk gown was elegantly trimmed with gold braid, and she carried a small painted fan, and had a rope of pearls twisted in her hair which, instead of being smoothed back as usual, had been permitted to fall in a cascade of ringlets over one pretty shoulder.

At last Caroline persuaded her she had no cause for worry, and they drove to Great Pulteney Street. The party was already crowded, and when they were greeted by Mrs Leigh, she waved them on towards the back parlour.

“Most of the young people are there,” she said cheerfully. “They are playing with that dratted parrot. He’ll get so conceited there’ll be even more difficulty in shutting him up!”

They laughed, and went to find Teresa and many of her young friends admiring the bird.

“Aunt Hermione allows him in the drawing room when there are no guests,” Teresa was explaining. “He amuses her, but she says his language is insufficiently polite for company!”

The parrot, who had been sitting preening himself, his back to the room, suddenly emitted a piercing scream, and when the deafening noise had finished Teresa laughingly told them he had heard one of the parlourmaids, who had not realised that he was there, give such a scream when she had first encountered him.

“Pretty bird, damn bird, dandy, darling, hold your tongue, go to bed,” the parrot rattled off, turning to survey his audience with a pair of glittering eyes. Then he began to yap like a dog.

“That is Carlos, one of my aunt’s dogs, who detests him,” Teresa said with a laugh.

“Bad dog, down, down, down, damn bird, go to bed, miny, miny.”

“What does he say?”

“Oh, it’s Aunt Hermione. Her name has defeated him.”

“How long does it take to make him learn a new word?” one of the girls asked, venturing to put a finger into the cage, but withdrawing it hastily when the parrot made a snap towards it with his vicious looking beak.

“It depends,” Teresa replied. “Sometimes he begins to say something he’s only heard once, and yet when I have tried to teach him a new word he often utterly refuses to say it. I suppose it is what takes his fancy.”

“Fancy, fancy, fancy boy,” the parrot gabbled, and after a few more minutes, when Teresa considered he had shown off sufficiently, she suggested that they might like to return to the other room, where dancing was being arranged.

They began to leave the room, and the parrot uttered a lifelike sob.

“Don’t go, don’t go,” he pleaded, and then appeared to burst into uncontrollable tears, to the amusement of the visitors. Mary glanced swiftly at Teresa, suspecting that the parrot had learned this phrase from her, but Teresa seemed unconcerned, not in the least discomposed, and Mary hoped no one else would think as she had.

When she walked into the other parlour, she found Mr Morris standing beside the door, and he approached her, saying he wished to speak with her.

She permitted him to lead her to a couple of chairs near the window, wondering what he could possibly have to say to her. She did not like the man, and tried not to let this show in her face as she smiled at him, waiting for him to begin.

“A most distressing affair, at Wookey,” he said, after a few preliminary coughs and after glancing round to see that no one else could overhear them.

“Indeed,” Mary agreed briefly.

“Mrs Standish is naturally most concerned. She fears for Teresa’s life.”

“Surely she does not credit the story Teresa tells? It was largely imagination.”

“Oh, my dear young lady, it is clear that you do not know how very wicked the world can be. Remember that there have been other attempts on Teresa’s life.”

“All accidents,” Mary said firmly.

He smiled and shook his head. “You choose to believe it. I can only hope you are not proved wrong. Sir Ingram is a hard man, and determined to have his way.”

“I will not believe him a murderer! Besides, what good would Teresa’s death be to him? Surely her fortune would go to her mother?”

He looked quickly about him, then put his finger to his lips.

“But of course,” he whispered. “Dear Mrs Standish has not yet realised that she too is in danger!”

Mary stared at him, and then laughed. “Mr Morris, the notion is ludicrous!”

He did not seem offended. “That is what you are meant to think, but I warn you, my dear Miss Wyndham, for it seems to me that you have too great a partiality for Sir Ingram. I would not wish so charming a young lady to be hurt by such a villain!”

Mary flushed in annoyance. “I thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary,” she said coldly, and rose from her chair. Without giving him an opportunity to reply she swept away, and went impetuously from the room, intending to go to the drawing room. Outside in the hall, however, she found Matthew, and to her surprise he was talking amiably with Sir Ingram. They turned and smiled at her, and Sir Ingram raised his eyebrows.

“Why do you desert the dancing, Miss Wyndham?”

“It has not yet begun,” she said, feeling foolish.

“But it will. In point of fact, I hear the musicians tuning up. Will you honour me?”

She found it most difficult to concentrate, and several of her replies were made at random. Knowing he was laughing at her served to make her even more confused, and she was thankful to escape at the end of the dance, having been aware of Mr Morris’s gaze fixed on them, and uncomfortable when she recalled his insinuations of her partiality for Sir Ingram.

She contrived to avoid Sir Ingram for the remainder of the party, but found herself watching him much of the time, and chided herself for behaving foolishly. That night she tossed and turned in bed, trying not to think of how he had danced twice with Belinda, and how the girl had sparkled up at him, laughing and teasing. Why, she demanded angrily to herself as she tried to find a cool spot on the pillow to rest her cheek, should this man have such an effect on her? Why did she constantly think of his smile, the way he had of lifting his eyebrows sardonically, his elegant figure, the deep yet clear tones of his voice? I ought to be more concerned about whether he is guilty of these attacks, if they are attacks, on Teresa, she thought, but it was of no use, for somehow that did not matter, he could not be guilty, and his image would not be banished from her thoughts.

The following morning, in the Pump Room, a rather tired and dispirited Mary met Teresa, who was glowering about her in an angry, frustrated manner.

“Have you seen Matthew or Ingram?” she demanded without ceremony.

“Not this morning,” Mary replied. “What has occurred to put you out of countenance?”

“Matthew, if you please, has sent me a message that he cannot ride with me this morning as we had arranged because he prefers to go to some horrid boxing contest!”

“I am sure he did not phrase it quite like that,” Mary protested, unable to restrain her laughter.

“That was the import! I remained at home, waiting for him, and all that arrives is this note. I had thought we would be free because Ingram was out of Bath this morning.”

“It really is too bad of Matthew to let you down,” Mary sympathised, though she felt bound to add that they should not have been going behind Sir Ingram’s back. “Has he gone alone?”