Miss Ryder's Memoirs

by Laura Matthews

  “Now there I think you are quite wrong. Most young ladies have the temptation bred out of them."

  “You needn't make sport with me, Sir John. I may not be as meek as a country schoolgirl or as sophisticated as a London mistress, but I am the happier for it. Not for me whiling away every day going to parties and wearing fine dresses."

  His hands moved to my sides, almost as if he were attempting to measure me. I felt I could while away a few hours just with them there. “How do you spend your time? Other than swimming, that is?"

  I colored. “I ride and drive, and I walk and read, and I help Mama and Amanda run the household, as well as doing my share of the parish chores and the visiting of the estate sick or injured. It's the country life, and I am more than content with it. What use is there in flirting with a group of silly men and gossiping with insipid misses?"

  “I certainly can't think of any.” His hands moved ever so slightly upward and I could feel my breathing increase. My heart pounded harder, too, and I was sure he must feel it, if not hear it. “How did you learn to swim?” he asked.

  “Oh, Papa taught Robert, and Robert taught me.” At his startled look, I added, “We were very young then. You needn't act the prude for my benefit."

  “You're quite right. But I could help you improve your swimming style.” His hands smoothed the fabric over my back, gliding up to my shoulders. “You need to lift your arms completely over your head, to get the most powerful stroke. You were just paddling along, which will keep you afloat, but won't take you any distance. Like this."

  Instead of showing me by lifting his own arm over his head, he took hold of mine, both of them, and lifted them one at a time over my head. It was a strange sensation. With my arms that high over my head, the gown stretched tight across my bust. He brought the arms up again in a rhythm that made my heart pound hard.

  “And you turn your head, like this, to breathe,” he explained. This time he moved his own head, inhaling to the side and blowing out when he put his head down. My eyes were locked on his mouth, pursed and ready for air—or for a kiss. “Try it,” he said.

  I felt like a fool, with him watching me that way. He urged me to use my arms and try the breathing at the same time. “Good, good,” he encouraged me as I followed his example. Suddenly his lips were there at my breathing-out place and he brushed mine lightly, not quite a kiss. I was so shaken that I paused; he insisted that I must keep up the rhythm or lose my chance to learn how to do it properly.

  Nonsense, of course, but I did as he said. Each time my mouth reached its apex, his lips were there, gently urging me on. His hands were high on my sides, in an effort to keep me in a more-or-less horizontal position, I suppose. All I could think of was that they were so close to my breasts, and for some reason I had an overwhelming need for him to touch me there. He didn't. And my body ached for something more, something to relieve the inner tension that was building inside me.

  “You've got it,” he said in that soft, rough voice of his. “You're a quick learner, but it's different out of water. Tomorrow we could go to the pond..."

  “Don't be ridiculous!” Though I meant it to sound determined, my words came out totally lacking in conviction. I could indeed picture myself in the pond, practicing my swimming, with his hands on my naked body, supporting me, his lips rewarding my efforts. In fact, I felt naked just sitting there beside him. My shallow breathing increased once again when he drew me to him and held me in a tight embrace, his lips firm on mine, his own heart hammering against my breast.

  “What would be the harm in it?” he whispered. “It's not as though I hadn't already seen you ... in that condition. I promise you I would not behave in any way that you disliked."

  I moistened my lips and drew back from him. “It's out of the question. You would have to swim without your clothes, and I don't think I should see you without your clothes, any more than you should see me. You shouldn't have seen me the other day."

  “But I did.” I felt his hands run down my back, farther than I should have liked, except that I did.

  “Your skin glowed like alabaster in the water. I could see every womanly curve of you. And your face. I don't think I shall ever forget the look on your face when you became aware of me."

  He laughed with a charming ruefulness. “I didn't wish to alarm you, but it was beyond my powers of abstinence to leave before I had to. I should have known then who you were. Your swimming fit quite well with what I'd heard of you in London. A truly spirited young woman. I think that was half the reason I agreed to come here."

  “What was the other half?"

  He frowned and shook his head, as though to free it from some distraction. “Why, to buy the horses, of course. Why else would I have come?"

  I had broken the spell that surrounded us. He drew back from me, his hands leaving my body slowly, but completely. He picked up a chunk of bread and spread it with the golden butter Mrs. Cooper had sent in a crock. “I'm starved,” he admitted. “We should get on with our meal, don't you think?"

  I didn't agree one bit, but I pretended that I did. With fingers that still shook slightly, I chose an orange and began to peel it. Sir John wasn't looking at me then. He retrieved the wine from its cooling place and expertly wielded the corkscrew. I could picture him doing this dozens of times, on dozens of picnics, with dozens of voluptuous women. Not all at the same time, of course. When he spoke, it took me a moment to bring my wandering attention back to where we were.

  “Have you heard about the highwayman who's been working the Newmarket Road?"

  Several people had been held up at pistol-point by a highwayman over the last few weeks, but there was surprisingly little talk of the matter. Not that it was a common occurrence in our neighborhood. There hadn't been so much as a robbery on the high road for a good ten years before this.

  “There have been murmurings,” I admitted. “I daresay our constable will manage to catch the fellow one of these days, as he doesn't seem to have much sense about who he waylays. Lord Ekton was robbed last week, and though he's a wretched human being, he's rich as may be, and usually has several outriders with him. Lucky for the highwayman that his lordship happened to be riding alone instead of in his carriage."

  “Lord Ekton is only one of several people who have come under attack from the fellow. I myself was robbed a fortnight ago."

  “A fortnight ago?” I was astonished. “I had no idea you were in this area a fortnight ago."

  “I was coming from the Newmarket races and I have to admit it sounded the most colossal nonsense when someone yelled, ‘Stand and deliver!’ At first I couldn't even see the fellow. He was hidden behind some rocks to the side of the road. But he meant business and insisted on my purse."

  He was pouring wine into my glass, but his eyes were on me. “And you gave it over?” I asked.

  “Of course. I would far rather lose a few pounds than have a bullet through my skull, Miss Ryder. Perhaps you would have preferred the latter fate for me."

  “Not at all.” Though I have to admit it seemed rather tame of him to hand over his purse without a struggle. I said as much.

  “Well,” he said, his eyes full of mischief, “perhaps I would have put up more resistance if I'd been alone. But the highwayman was waving his pistol most menacingly at my charming companion."

  I might have known: he had been with his mistress. Suddenly I felt so dispirited that I took an enormous gulp of the wine, forgetting everything that Mrs. Cooper had told me.

  Sir John shook his head in a disparaging sort of way. “You really shouldn't swill it down that way, my dear. It's quite a decent wine."

  I was torn between wishing to toss the rest of it in his face and “swilling” it down my own throat. In the end I managed to knock it over, so I ignored him and helped myself to more food as consolation.

  Chapter 8

  Amanda awaited our return in the side garden. Sir John made for her like a bee to a flower. He didn't have to desert me so rapidly after he ha
nded me down from the curricle. Obviously he was a very fickle fellow. I hurried into the house to have a word with Mama.

  She was in the summer parlor gazing absently at the open door. I could tell she wasn't in one of her “states,” though, because she looked up when I entered, and smiled. “Did you have a nice day, my sweet?” she asked.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I declared. What a liar I could be. “Sir John bought a handsome pair of bays. He's with Amanda in the arbor now, you will be pleased to know."

  Her brow puckered. “Why should I be pleased about that?"

  “I can see that you are determined to marry them off. And the more time he spends with her, the more likely that eventuality will become."

  Mama gave a charming laugh. “It seems to me he's spending just as much time with you as he is with Amanda. I've known men to do that before. Unable to make up their minds between two delightful sisters."

  “Oh, I doubt if that is Sir John's problem,” I said. “Besides, he spends very little time with me."

  “That's not how Amanda sees it. She said that he often goes off to consult with you, or walk with you, or sit in the arbor. And then there was your drive today, with a picnic. Oh, yes, I think we shall have to consider him smitten with the both of you.” She brushed her hands briskly down her skirts. “Which is probably no real help, so far as finding each of you a husband is concerned. He will doubtless take off for London after a while, simply to escape his confusion."

  I could easily believe he would leave. If Mama couldn't see how much he was making up to Amanda, then Sir John was keeping it from her. The sly devil. And he convinced Amanda that he was, to some extent, making up to me. Decidedly there was something suspicious going on and I had a burning desire to discover what it was. Tonight I would wait, not in the hall, but in the downstairs passage that he would have to traverse to leave the house.

  * * * *

  I made sure that there was a candle burning in the passage so that I would be able to see any trespasser clearly. As one came down the back stairs, there was a tread that creaked so loudly it would give me a chance to move farther under the table where I had placed my blankets. This time no one was going to leave without my seeing who it was.

  It was a wretchedly uncomfortable bed I made myself, but I did manage to doze off once or twice. Then, at a little after midnight I heard the sharp crack of the noisy tread. I drew back so that only my head remained visible. Anyone leaving the house would have to swing almost full around to see me. The step on the stairs was light and sure, as if this person had trod them many times before. The door at the foot of the stairs swung open as though there were not the least need for caution.

  But the person who emerged was cloaked from head to toe in an enormous black cape and wore riding boots. For a fraction of a second the face seemed to turn slightly, and to my astonishment I saw that this nighttime adventurer was wearing a black mask. A mask, for heaven's sake! I meant to cry out, but something prevented me and the fellow was gone, the door closing sharply after.

  The only thing I could be sure of was that it hadn't been Sir John. The masked person was not nearly tall enough. And yet, who else could it be? The only other people staying in the house were Cousin Bret, Mama, and Amanda. That it could conceivably be one of the servants hardly occurred to me. Our servants would not so much as borrow a horse from the stables without permission, and this masked adventurer was obviously intent on riding out.

  I was struggling with this dilemma when a second noise came from the stairs. Not that the stair creaked. Apparently this person knew how to avoid the noisy tread and was already pushing open the door slowly and soundlessly. I drew back under the rim of the table again and strained to see who had appeared.

  There was no mistaking the size and solidity of him. And I saw his face as he turned to close the door silently before his long strides carried him swiftly through the passage. He had disappeared in a matter of seconds, though he hardly seemed to hasten. In the candlelight his face had looked extraordinarily determined and intelligent, lacking the lighthearted frivolity with which he was wont to regard Amanda and me during the days.

  It was only then that I realized my mistake. The most logical place for me to have positioned myself would have been in the tack room of the stables. One or both of these people intended to ride out, and I was way behind them now, trying to pull on my boots and fetch up my riding jacket over my nightclothes. I was determined to follow them even though I had lost a lot of time.

  With a sort of desperation, I slipped out the back door, running down the path toward the stables. I could see and hear nothing in the black stillness of the night. If there were hoofbeats, I didn't hear them. I could only hear the pounding of my heart and the scuffle of my boots on the gravel path.

  There was no light on in the stables. The door, I could see even from a distance, was closed. But I had no difficulty in opening it. Our coachman didn't believe in barring the door, in case of fire. He was insistent that no one would dare come in to steal a horse with himself and his staff so close by. I let myself in and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust further to the dark.

  Nothing broke the silence except the shifting of an animal in its stall somewhere down the line. And yet I wondered if there wasn't someone else in the dark with me there. I could almost feel a presence, lurking in one of the stalls, or a loose box, or even in the tack room. It was not that I felt frightened, merely that I was aware of a prickling on my neck that was like hackles rising. I had every right to be there; whether my invisible companion did or not remained to be seen.

  As I walked down the length of stalls, I checked to see which horses were missing. The first horse not in its stall was Mama's Antelope. My own Lofty seemed to sense my presence, for she lifted her head and whinnied softly, moving to thrust her head over the wooden gate for my attention. Without thinking, I reached up to rub her forehead, right on the spot she most approves of.

  Sir John's Apollo was missing, which didn't surprise me, of course. And Robert's Thunder. No other horses were gone. Not that three wasn't quite enough! I hurried to the back entrance and opened the door a few inches, but there was nothing to be seen. Sir John and the Masked Rider were long gone.

  I stood there pondering what I should do. My chances of encountering someone if I waited in the stables were reasonably good, but it might be hours and I was already shivering in my nightclothes, despite the riding coat. So I decided to return to the house to contemplate my next move.

  Disgruntled, I made my way back to the house and started to gather up my blankets from under the table. I was so jumpy by this time that I was starting to hear all sorts of creaks and groans in the old house. Once I thought I heard the stair creak again, and I slid under the table so fast I grazed my head on one of the leg corners. This caused a great deal of pain and, as I soon discovered, had drawn blood as well. It didn't help that the noise turned out to be a false alarm.

  By the time I had trudged up the stairs my head was pounding abominably. I couldn't bear to think about who the Masked Rider might be, since no matter who he was, it was going to mean trouble for us. I kept trying to remember if Cousin Bret had been here long enough to be the guilty party, but my aching head wouldn't obey me. The only hope, it seemed to me, was that the villain was a friend of one of our servants, hiding out in our house, but somehow that seemed terribly unlikely.

  A drop of blood splashed onto my hand as I reached the upper landing. I've always been a bit squeamish about the sight of blood and this blob made me feel slightly faint. In the hall closet I found a plaster for my head, and in my room I rinsed the cut with water from my ewer. The cut smarted like anything, and it bled profusely for some time. That's what scalp wounds will do, and I felt rather ill by the time the flow had been stanched. The cut was back of my hairline and with luck no one would notice it in the morning.

  Exhausted and depressed, I climbed into my bed, drew the covers up to my chin, and tried to forget that my aching crow
n was only one of the headaches that faced me. Mercifully, I quickly lost consciousness.

  * * * *

  In the morning it took me a matter of moments to wrap myself in a robe and slide my feet into slippers. My knock on Mama's door was soft to the point of being hardly a sound at all, but she called out in a firm cheerful voice, “Come in!"

  She probably thought I was her maid bringing chocolate, but she didn't by the flicker of an eyelash show that she was surprised by my arrival. Nothing seemed the least suspicious or out of place in her room. I don't know if I expected to find a black cape tossed over a chair or a mask on the dressing table. “Why, Catherine, dear, what a surprise to see you at this hour. Is something the matter?"

  Closing the door carefully behind me, since I had no way of knowing if any of the others were abroad, I nodded and took up a position at the end of her dressing table, where she was seated. “Mama,” I began, wondering how someone had this sort of conversation with her mother, “I was in the back hallway last night."

  “Were you, dear?” she asked absently as she tucked a wisp of graying hair behind her ear. “Whatever were you doing there?"

  “Well, I was intent on finding out what Sir John is really up to, but that doesn't seem to be as important now as what else is going on."

  She turned her head so that her eyes met mine directly, rather than in the mirror. “What is going on, dear?"

  “Someone in this household is a highwayman,” I announced with my natural flare for drama. “I saw it with my own eyes, a figure come down the back stairs dressed in a black cape, with a mask. And then there was Sir John, who followed that person out of the house."

  “Did he?” I could tell she was startled. Then a small frown drew together the brown brows that usually made perfect crescents over her eyes. “Why would he do such a thing?"

  “Well, because he wishes to find out who is going out to rob innocent people on the high road,” I said. “And, Mama, there is no ignoring the fact that it must be one of three people: Amanda, Cousin Bret, or ... you."