The Selfless Sister (12 page)

Best to get away
—apologize with some semblance of dignity before his whole facade of indifference collapsed completely. “Good day, Miss Linley. It seems we are at odds. If I have offended you, my deepest apologies.”

Since she was already pressed against the table, she could not step backward, but she gave every indication of wishing to do so. “Good day sir,” she said with the warmth of a gale blowing in from the North Sea. “I see now I needn’t have worried about offending you.”

“No apology necessary,” he replied, striving for a flippant tone. He bowed and moved away.

Lucinda looked after him, her pulse still quickened by a combination of chagrin and...what? She had almost forgotten that powerful feeling of excitement she got every time she talked with him. When he had stood so close to her, she was acutely aware of him, and it most definitely wasn’t from her embarrassment over not keeping their tryst. But he hadn’t been there either! And to think she had actually felt guilty about not meeting him in the woods that day!

How foolish could she get?

Chapter
9

With a satisfied sigh, Lady Perry dropped into a Louis XVI gilt chair, part of the plush furnishings of their beautifully appointed suite in the Clarendon. Beaming, she declared, “What a delightful day! We shall dine downstairs tonight. The Clarendon is the only hotel in London where you can find a genuine French dinner.”

Only half listening, Lucinda settled into an identical chair across. “I have heard of their cook, Jacquiers,” she responded listlessly.
Since Hatchards, her thoughts had been in a turmoil and she couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“I’m sure he’ll outdo himself again,” replied Lady Perry. She picked up a satirical print by Gillray which she’d just purchased at Mrs. Humphrie’s Print Shop in St. James Street. It was of the Whig politician, Charles James Foxby, and she considered it a real find. “Isn’t this hilarious? Though I had best not hang it in any prominent spot at home.”

Lucinda glanced at the caricature of a man in ragged French sansculottes whose face was unshaven and hairy and whose gaiety suggested drunkenness. “It surely is hilarious,” she answered without conviction.

Lady Perry stayed silent a moment, as if she had finally observed that her companion was disinterested and unamused. With a perceptive little nod, she said, “At Hatchards, I noticed you bumped into Lord Belington.”

“Literally.” Lucinda was suddenly alarmed “I do hope—”

“Allay your fears, my dear. I would as lief walk naked down Bond Street as tattle to Edgerton Linley.”

Despite her discomposure, Lucinda could not keep from laughing at the startling image Lady Perry had just created in her mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I find Lord Belington not to my liking. You can rest assured I shan’t be arranging any trysts with him again.” That seemed the proper thing to say, but she wondered if she meant it. She’d been shaken to the core when she’d seen Belington in Hatchards.

All sympathy, Lady Perry inquired, “Something went wrong?”

Lucinda described Belington’s rude behavior. “I have been so concerned for his feelings, thinking how I might have hurt him because I couldn’t meet him in the woods one day. Today he informed me that he, too, failed to keep our assignation.” Chagrined, Lucinda bit her lip. “I was a fool to worry.”

Lady Perry asked, “How do you know he wasn’t there?”

“He didn’t say so directly, but he certainly implied he wasn’t.”

A wise little smile touched Lady Perry’s lips. “Did it ever occur to you that indeed he was there, but was loathe to admit it?”

Lucinda thought a moment. “So you’re saying he would imply he wasn’t there even though he was? Hmm... when I think back, he never said he wasn’t there, not in so many words. He only led me to believe he wasn’t. Do you think...? Of course! He was there.” A sudden joy filled her heart. She knew it was an unreasonable, ridiculous kind of joy, but she felt it, nonetheless. It must simply be my vanity, she told herself. Bad enough to be snubbed by someone you liked. Worse, much worse, to be forgotten, disregarded—whatever the reason was—by someone you didn’t like anymore.

“So there’s the truth of it, I should wager.” Lady Perry smiled in satisfaction. “Men and their pride. You know how they are.”

Lucinda shook her head. “My father is never that way. He has always been so scrupulously honest he would never dream of misleading anyone, even in a matter of pride.”

“You must be very proud of your father.”

Lucinda nodded vigorously. “When I marry, if I marry, I want a man just like him—a quiet man of great patience, also gentle and kind.” Her eyebrows flew together in a scowl. “Lord Belington most definitely does not qualify.”

“So you say, but I wonder.” Lady Perry regarded her with somber curiosity. “I am not acquainted with Belington all that well. No one is, considering the way his family was ostracized. Still, over the years I have had occasion to observe him. I must admit, with that tough exterior of his, and that hardheaded independence, it would seem he
truly is almost the exact opposite of your father, yet underneath...?” Lady Perry paused to ponder “...I’m not so sure. Goodness manifests itself in various ways, not always the obvious.”

Lucinda sniffed with disdain. “Felicia, if you are implying that Lord Belington is really a fine fellow...”

“I am not sure what I am implying. Douglas was only six years old at the time of the tragedy. Obviously he was too young to remember much, yet the terrible events of that day left an indelible mark that drastically affected his life.”

“You were there that day?”

“I was with Gregory, you see.” Pain filled her eyes. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”

Until this moment, Lucinda had not realized the enormity of the hurt her new friend must have suffered. She asked, “Can you tell me what happened that day? I mean, from your point of view. I’ve already heard Edgerton’s, but I suspect his version might not necessarily be exactly what happened.”

“Of course, if you like. We were having a wonderful time that day,” Lady Perry began, her voice reflective. “Strange, isn’t it, how something horrible can happen when you least expect it? When you assume that because you’re having such a wonderful time nothing bad can happen? Of course, one can never be prepared for such a grisly tragedy.” She sighed and collected herself. “Since I had become betrothed to Gregory, Lord and Lady Belington were exceedingly kind to me. I was considered practically part of the family, which is why I was so busy that day at Ravensbrook Manor, working right along with the Belingtons, I was greeting guests, making sure everyone was comfortable—that sort of thing.”

“I understand it was a Christmas party.”

“It was a tradition. For many years at Christmastime, Lady Belington turned Ravensbrook into a kind of Christmas fair, much after the German custom. Everything was beautifully decorated, the grand attraction being a huge tree, placed in the center of the Great Hall. You should have seen how the children got wide-eyed when they saw its branches all beautifully garnished with oranges, cakes and gingerbread. Presents which the guests had brought the Belingtons were displayed on one table. Several other tables were piled high with the Belingtons’ gifts for the servants and children. I can hardly describe Lord and Lady Belington’s generosity. They gave great quantities of toys, gloves, pocket-handkerchiefs, work boxes, books...all sorts of things. In the afternoon there was a sumptuous dinner called The Feast of Christmas. Afterward the servants and children received their gifts. You can imagine what a festive occasion it was, enjoyed by all until that awful day.”

Lady Perry paused and shut her eyes a moment, as if the events that occurred after the dinner and gift opening were too painful to recall.

“Felicia, if you would rather not—?”

“No, no, I shall be fine. I want to talk about it. You see, I haven’t for so long, and yet the horrible memories still haunt me. I can see that huge old mansion even now
—every detail—and how beautiful it looked that day. Ordinarily, it did not, you know.”

“Really?” Lucinda asked, surprised. “I saw Ravensbrook only from a distance, but to me it looked like an enchanted castle.”

Lady Perry looked thoughtful. “I suppose it’s all in how you look at it. Ravensbrook was built sometime in the fourteenth century. Over the years, massive restorations have been done, but even now it still has that grim, medieval feel about it—at least, I think so. You’ve never seen the Great Hall where there’s a huge, dark-stoned fireplace and faded banners on the wall. There’s even a dais at one end where the Lord of the Manor once presided over the rest of his household. So you see, much of the flavor of the original remains—more than one would wish.” Felicia let out an odd little laugh. “I must confess to feeling a sense of apprehension every time I entered Ravensbrook’s Great Hall. It never went away.”

“Still, I would love to see it,” exclaimed Lucinda. “I can just imagine the floor covered with straw
—the people sitting at those trestle tables, drinking wine from goblets, eating with their fingers, tossing bones over their shoulders to the dogs. It was so long ago, wasn’t it? In these modern times it’s hard to imagine.”

“So true,” agreed Lady Perry. “Not just the Great Hall but the entire establishment is full of old armor
—swords of all sizes—old carved chairs of the times—walls covered with old tapestries. One can well imagine hidden doors and secret passages that lead to a secret dungeon.”

“There’s a dungeon?” Lucinda asked, fascinated.

“No, but given the medieval atmosphere of the place, there ought to be. There’s a huge attic, though, added during some later renovation stage. From what I understand, it’s a maze of rooms, both large and small. They say every piece of furniture discarded since 1305"—she smiled mischievously—”or thereabouts, anyway, is stored there.”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“Mercy, no. The door to the attic was always locked. ‘Too dangerous,’ Lady Belington used to say. I suspect she didn’t want anyone messing about with all the old relics, and besides—” a devilish gleam lit Lady Perry’s eye “—there’s a ghost.”

“A ghost? Oh, please do tell,” Lucinda responded, in tune with her friend’s playful mood.

“It’s a sad story, actually. The castle was originally built by Sir Thomas Edgecome. When he died, around 1356, his son, Giles, inherited the estate. Legend has it that Giles was a vicious, vengeful sort of man, utterly ruthless. He stayed a bachelor until he was forty, then fell in love with an eighteen-year-old beauty named Hilaria Belington, daughter of Lord Belington, who at that time lived close by. To Giles’ shock, Hilaria refused his hand in marriage. Apparently he did not take rejection well and was livid with anger. That very day, no doubt to distract himself from his rejection, Giles went hunting. In a reckless mood, he put one end of a pair of dog leads over his head while running after his sport and leaped over a hedge. The end of the other lead, which hung down his back, took hold of a bough. It kept him from touching the ground and he strangled.”

“How awful!”

“Indeed, a gruesome death. Shortly after, the Belingtons bought Giles’ estate, which, so the story goes, so enraged the spirit of the departed Giles that he returned to Ravensbrook Manor to dwell in the attic and haunt the place in a most unfriendly fashion.”

“Does he actually appear?” Lucinda asked lightly. She did not believe in ghosts, unfriendly, or otherwise.

Lady Perry shook her head. “He doesn’t actually appear, but the servants say that to this very day, the sounds of mysterious footsteps, and thumps and bumps in the attic can be heard in the dead of night. The family thinks it’s quite amusing, but the servants are terrified of the ghost of Sir Giles. As you know, servants can be tremendously superstitious as well as in possession of great imaginations.”

“But you surely don’t believe in ghosts?”

“No, of course not.” An odd expression crossed Lady Perry’s face.. Let’s just say I have never felt any great desire to explore the attic.”

Lucinda thoughts returned to the little lost girl again. “Was the attic searched when Marianne disappeared?”

“Thoroughly, of course.”

“So the day of the tragedy?” Lucinda prompted.

“It was late in the afternoon. The servants and children had all received their presents. The dinner had been served, and the desserts not long after. A kind of lazy, somnolence descended. Everyone was full, happy, and in a mellow mood. The children were outside playing for the most part, the adults sitting about chatting. Gregory was outside, as far as I knew. He was much taken with his horses, so I assumed he and his friends were out in the stables. I was chatting with a group of ladies, Lady Belington among them, when, slowly, I became aware of a disturbance. It didn’t seem much at first, only the distant, agitated voice of a woman—your Aunt Pernelia, I later found. Gradually there was a stir—servants, others, going outside until, finally, we were made aware something was amiss. The butler appeared. I have a clear memory of poor Lady Belington laughing, no doubt the last totally relaxed laughter she was ever to know in her life. She stopped in mid-laughter when she saw the distressed look on the butler’s face. ‘One of the little girls is missing,’ he said, ‘little Marianne, Lady Linley’s daughter.’

“Well, at first, of course, no one was much concerned. Children got themselves lost all the time in those deep woods
—they still do—but were generally found safe and sound. We all went outside, though, to the front courtyard where there was a great commotion. Dogs barking, servants scurrying here and there, and poor Lady Linley... I shall never forget the anguished look on her face, and how she was walking back and forth, wringing her hands. I believe it was a mother’s intuition that she knew something was terribly wrong.

“It was then Lord Belington called out, ‘Has anyone seen Marianne?’ and Edgerton, who was twelve at the time, stepped forward and said he had. When asked where and when, he described how he’d seen Gregory Belington lead the girl on a pony into the woods, and how, later on, he’d seen Gregory returning, leading a riderless pony. Not only that, his little sister, Sarah, who was five at the time, confirmed she had seen the same thing.

“The groom and stable boys were questioned. Morris, the head groom, and Pitney, the stableboy, confirmed that, indeed, Gregory had been giving pony rides to children that day, leading them on a little path through the woods and out again.” Lady Perry paused, a look of anguish twisting her face. “Gregory loved children and always went out of his way to be kind to them. Oh, I get a lump in my throat just thinking about how this very kindness went against him in the end. Giving them pony rides was a thoughtful, generous thing for him to do, but all anyone could remember was the bad reputation he’d brought back from London years before, most particularly his loose ways with women. That was all behind him, but they chose not to believe that.”