The first several hours of my vigil were spent in fitful sleep. Around two in the morning I was awakened by a sound in the hall, but it came from another direction entirely. Both Mama's and Cousin Bret's rooms were in the facing wing and it could have been either of them, needing to use the water closet in the night. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep again I heard the door at the head of the stairs creak. I leapt to my feet and poked my head around the corner to see who it was.
Too late. The door was already closing behind the midnight adventurer. I had to make a quick decision about what to do, and I decided to see whether Sir John was still in his room. Since the only view I had through the keyhole was a black emptiness, I tried the door. He hadn't locked it and, with great caution, I turned the handle, inching it around until I could feel it would swing clear. Even though I got a wider perspective on the room, I couldn't tell if the baronet was in his bed. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, but there seemed to be mounds of bedclothes in the four-poster. With the curtains draped along the sides, it was impossible to be sure if there was a body in the bed or not.
Did I dare walk across the floor to his bed to check? My courage nearly failed me. What if he was there and awake? I had made almost no sound opening the door, but he might be suffering from sleeplessness, or be an extraordinarily light sleeper. Hadn't he mentioned being able to distinguish all sorts of noises in the hall on his first night? I braced myself and moved silently across the cold floorboards and the Axminster carpet in my bare feet. I made not the slightest whisper of sound.
And yet when I came close enough to see if he was in the bed, a hand of gripping strength caught my arm, pulling swiftly downward so that I was forced to my knees. A whimper escaped me and I found my arm abruptly released.
“So it's you again,” he grumbled. “What did you have in mind this time, my dear?"
“My arm is going to be bruised. You couldn't possibly just ask who was there, could you? I shall have marks on my arm for a week.” My mutterings were more hysteria than anger. He had frightened me by his abrupt and decisive movement.
“How was I to know it was you?” he retorted. “It might have been an assassin, ready to plunge a knife into my heart as I slept."
“Dear heaven, what outlandish novel were you reading when you fell asleep?” I demanded. “We don't have assassins here at Hastings. Not one of our visitors has ever had a knife plunged into his heart as he slept."
“What are you doing here, Catherine?"
His voice had softened and I could see his eyes glitter in the darkness. His hand had already returned to rub my wrist, and now it tightened slightly, drawing me toward his bed. I was still on my knees, and this movement brought my face alarmingly close to his. I could feel the warm breath from his lips as he spoke.
“You have the oddest habit of wandering around in the night. Do you take after your mother in that respect?"
“My mother does not wander around in the middle of the night,” I said.
“No? My mistake. Well, if it is not a family habit, please explain what you're doing here."
“I was merely checking to see that you were in your room. When I heard a noise on the stairs, I thought it might be you going out."
“How in heaven's name did you hear anything on the stairs? Your room is far too distant for you to hear anything but an avalanche on the stairs."
Since I had no intention of telling him where I had been sleeping, I freed myself from his clasp with a swift jerk of my hand and leapt to my feet. “I'm going back to bed."
“Catherine, Catherine. Don't be so hasty. We might have a little interesting conversation, you and I."
Suspecting him of being a rake, I had no doubt that this phrase was a euphemism for something wholly indecent. My fingers itched to slap him, but his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist again.
“Now, now. You misunderstand me, my dear child. I meant only that you and I should talk. There is something conducive to sharing confidences in the dead of night, where not a single candle burns nor a ray of light pierces the draperies.” His voice was like silk and I felt myself swallow hard. “I was not suggesting something improper. Your brother is a great friend of mine, remember. That is not a friendship I would jeopardize for the kind of accommodation I can so easily find elsewhere."
I drew back sharply from him, though he still retained his hold on my wrist. “I knew you were a rake! From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the most outrageous creature."
He laughed. “And from the moment I laid eyes on you, my fair one, I knew you had the kind of fiery spirit that would warm me a little too much for my own good.” He had raised himself up on one elbow. It was plain to me that he had no nightshirt on, and I trembled slightly. “I have no intention of ravishing you, though I don't say you are wrong about my reputation."
“Amanda could not be brought to speak so much as a word to you if she knew you were anything of the sort."
A brief, strange smile gave way to a mock-serious frown. “I know. You won't divulge my secret, will you? Just at this point in our acquaintance, I fear Miss Amanda would not believe you. It would make you look too much like a spoilsport, since there is no way you could offer proof of such a thing."
He was perfectly right, though it galled me to admit it. “I'm sure in time you will demonstrate it admirably without my help,” I said huffily. “Please release my arm."
“Certainly.” Though he loosened his fingers, he did not actually let go of my hand. Instead, he drew it to his lips and kissed the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. A slight suction there caused a most astonishing sensation in the pit of my stomach. I had every intention of pulling my hand away from him, then, but he continued to kiss it, the tips of my fingers, and the back of my hand until I seemed to tingle all over.
Somehow it would have felt rude of me to withdraw it just at that point. With his head bent down and the thick brown hair so close that I could have touched it with my lips, I found myself frozen. When he withdrew and beckoned me to lower my head, I shook it fiercely and backed away from him. With a sigh of regret, he released my hand. I fled from the room. Well, what could I possibly have said to him at a time like that?
Afraid that he would follow me, I hastily gathered my covers from the floor and lumped them in my arms. I raced for my room and closed the door with a decided thump, leaning against it and breathing so hard you would have thought I'd run all the way up the peak behind Hastings in a minute flat. What was he thinking of to behave that way with me in the middle of the night? Or any other time, for that matter? Had he kissed Amanda's hand like that?
There was something alarming about this man. First thing in the morning I planned to write Robert, asking hard questions about Sir John. If he was a rogue, I wanted to know. Being a rake was another matter entirely. A man of his age and looks and prospects was rather expected to be a bit of a hand with the ladies, but if he treated them dishonorably, that was something different. I only hoped my brother would be open with me about what was going on. As I climbed into bed, I decided to post my letter in town—much safer than having it lie about on the salver in the hall where someone might see and remove it.
I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew it was late in the morning, with the sun streaming through my window. Late, in our household, is about ten o'clock. I would have missed breakfast entirely, except that Mama was forced to leave the food out longer on account of Cousin Bret never appearing before that hour. Which meant that I would be forced to share my meal with him. If I hadn't been so hungry, I would have skipped my breakfast entirely.
Sure enough, he was seated there in all his sartorial splendor. He had never understood the concept of dressing informally in the country. My cousin rose graciously to his feet and regarded me with a sardonic curl of his fleshy lips. “You're a trifle late this morning, aren't you, cousin?"
I allowed him to hold my chair for me. “No later than you."
“I suppose the rest of them have alre
ady eaten and gone about their business. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of Cousin Amanda this morning. I thought she looked peaked at dinner last night."
“I assure you she is quite in bloom. You needn't concern yourself with her health."
“I always concern myself with her health. She's a delicate young woman."
“Balderdash! She's no more delicate than I.” When I could see that he meant to retort, I forestalled him by saying, “Her robustness is apparent to everyone but you, Cousin Bret. You are determined upon her delicacy only because she doesn't like horses and refuses to ride them now that her precious Daisy has been turned out to grass."
“She should bring herself to be more comfortable with horses,” he said.
This from the man who thought he was a genius with horses. Who thought he could control Robert's horse, Thunder. Once when Cousin Bret dismounted—he told us he dismounted, but I have a grave suspicion that he was actually thrown—Thunder took off for the stable and Cousin Bret was left to walk the five miles home.
He had continued to make his pronouncements on Amanda's peculiar habits regarding horses. “It's strange, with all the rest of you absolutely mad for them, that she has taken this aversion. No doubt it is an affectation that will disappear under the blandishments of one dear to her."
I snorted at this obviously ludicrous suggestion. “She isn't going to change her mind about horses."
“But she drove out with Sir John yesterday."
“More of a tribute to Sir John than a change of heart."
Cousin Bret eyed me reproachfully. “You're quite mistaken. Sir John is not the sort of man who would appeal to your sister. Cousin Amanda needs someone with stability of character and definition of purpose."
I refused to discuss the matter further with him. He's as stubborn as a man comes, and he was welcome to believe what he wished, so long as it didn't interfere with my plans. “Where have you been the last few evenings?” I inquired, to change the subject and because I was curious.
His countenance changed abruptly. “Nowhere special. I've gone into Cambridge to visit friends. The Mortons. A superior couple whom I've known since the days I spent in London. Most intelligent and worthy. They would be an excellent addition to your acquaintance, Cousin Catherine. Their example would be a good influence."
“I do hate being insulted at breakfast,” I informed him as I buttered a roll.
“No insult was intended, I assure you. It is a matter of polish. Mrs. Morton could advise you how to go on, as she has spent considerable time in London among the ton. As I recall, your Season in London was something of a disaster.” I frowned, but he ignored me, patting his full lips with a linen napkin. “Your sister would have made more use of a Season to acquire the necessary town bronze. She's so amenable to instruction."
Which I am not, of course. I could scarcely bear to remain in the same room with him. But there was something he'd said that nagged at me. Not all the stupid talk of polish, but about the Mortons. Could he possibly have visited them two nights in a row? Most unlikely. And hadn't Jed said something about Thunder being taken out only one evening?
“Where do the Mortons live?” I asked.
“On Trumpington Street."
“Did they have some special entertainment, to draw you there two nights in a row?"
He had been chewing on a sausage but his eyes swung alertly to me. “What's that you're asking? Two nights in a row?"
“Isn't that what you meant? That you had been there both last night and the night before?"
For a fraction of a second he hesitated, and then he speared another bite with his fork. “Yes, I was there both nights. We began discussing a new book David had received, and wished to continue our talk, with some reading en famille, on the following evening."
“I see.” Nothing in his expression encouraged me to believe him. From the time he was a small boy it has been easy enough to tell when my cousin was lying, though he never once would admit it. Lying was actually one of his few endearing qualities, I always thought. I mean, at least it indicated a little imagination. Otherwise, one would have been forced to conclude that he possessed none at all.
Unfortunately, Cousin Bret usually lied to keep himself out of trouble. I couldn't fathom his reasons for doing it now, but I had every intention of finding them out.
Chapter 6
My sister spent most of her spare moments with Sir John, but her spare moments weren't as many as she might have liked. I insisted that she not neglect her standard duties, such as arranging meals with Mrs. Cooper, and overseeing the mending of the linens, and cutting the flowers for the table, and making sure that the underhousemaids used the proper mixture of soap lees, turpentine, and pipe-clay to clean the marble.
Oh, we neither of us were such ladies of leisure as some city folk might imagine. Mama insisted that we learn every fine point of being in charge of a domestic staff and running a large, and possibly not wholly rich, household. Why, when we were younger, she even saw to it that we learned to make cheeses and hang the meats to cure.
Amanda was embarrassed by this sort of task. She was much more comfortable with an embroidery needle than a curd breaker. Not for the world would she have had Sir John see her go into the dairy. I had no such qualms. Coming on the said gentleman the next afternoon, and perhaps a bit disoriented by my memories of our last encounter, I chided him for walking into the house in muddy boots.
“Now where did you learn such despicable habits, Sir John?” I demanded. “Surely your mama would not have appreciated your dirt any more than we do. Amanda will have to see that the housemaid takes special care with this floor now. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Amanda got down on her hands and knees and did it herself, just to make sure there's not a trace left by the next time you pass this way."
Unfortunately, Amanda was just at that moment coming through the door from the kitchen, where she had undoubtedly been discharging some onerous duty, and she was furious with me. The color rose attractively in her cheeks and her eyes flashed with indignation. “Catherine! How can you let your tongue run away with such lies? You may be sure that Mama will hear of this."
Turning to Sir John, she hurriedly added, “You must not heed a word she says. Of course you shall come into the hall in muddy boots if you wish. What on earth do we have housemaids for if not to clean up after us?"
Sir John looked down at his boots for the first time and seemed chagrined to find that they were, indeed, quite muddy. Though how they could have gotten that way, on this sunny day, I was at a loss to imagine. “I heartily apologize,” he said, offering his most charming smile to Amanda. “If I had known my boots were muddy, I would have left them outside the back door.” He made a move to remove them right then and there, but Amanda fluttered an agitated hand at him and begged him—yes, begged him—not to put himself to so much trouble.
“For I'm sure the worst of it is off now, and you won't leave a trail on your way to your room.” She nervously pleated a handkerchief between her long, plump fingers.
“Or we might walk out in the garden until your boots dry, if you wished to come with me, and if your boots are not unbearably uncomfortable,” I suggested with just a note of sarcasm in my voice.
Sir John raised a quizzical brow. “Perhaps Miss Amanda would accompany me. We wouldn't think of keeping you from your own duties,” he added, smooth as glass. “I daresay you have the stables as your special province?"
He meant this as a set-down to me, but I'm proud of my supervision of the stables. His own horses were served well there, as even his groom would tell him. “The stables are indeed under my direction while my brother is away, Sir John. Which reminds me. Isn't it time for you to visit Hinchly Farms to see what they have to offer in the way of carriage horses? I could make myself available to go with you tomorrow. You'll need me to introduce you to old Hinchly. He's not the least bit tolerant of strangers. Perhaps Robert mentioned that to you?"
Rather than answer me, Sir John cast a
questioning look at my sister. She shrugged and nodded. Not even Amanda could deny that it would be useful for him to have me along when he went to Hinchly Farms. “Very well.” There was an absence of enthusiasm in his voice, which made me wonder if I'd imagined last night. “We'll go tomorrow. Early, if you please. So that we can be home in time for our midday meal."
No picnic for me! Well, he might be just the tiniest bit surprised by how I meant to handle the matter. Though I could see no reason to tell him in advance of my plans. “Early it is,” I agreed cheerfully. “I can be ready by nine."
For a moment I thought he would quibble, but he made a fatalistic gesture. And grinned ruefully at my sister, so much as to say, “I don't wish to be away from you for a minute, but I will accommodate Miss Ryder if I must."
I felt there was no chance he would wander around that night, because he had to be up at a reasonable hour. He would want to breakfast and perhaps take his mount out for a quick ride before we left. It may have been lax of me, but I allowed myself a good night's sleep, something that was becoming a bit of a rarity for me since he'd arrived. It would do my complexion a world of good.
We met in the breakfast room, where he was eating a meal that would have done a starving man proud. Though he rose and waited for me to seat myself, I cannot say that he looked overpleased about our venture.
Sir John surprised me by saying, “Tell me about your cousin, Bretford Cummings. Why is it he doesn't stay in to enjoy the family's company most nights? It seems a trifle rude."
“Cousin Bret considers himself so much a member of our family that he prides himself on his ease in coming and going. Which is not the same as running tame here, you understand. He feels that he belongs here to the extent that he should be regarded with the same indulgence as my brother."
Miss Ryder's Memoirs Page 6