She gave a cheerful laugh. “Now, now, dear. You are exaggerating. Or perhaps you are suffering from a nightmare that seemed extremely real to you. I'm not surprised that you dream of Sir John. No doubt he's very much on your mind."
“This was no dream,” I insisted. “And it's a very serious matter, Mama."
“Well, I don't see how you can expect me to take seriously the idea that your sister is a highwayman. I've never heard anything so ludicrous."
“Not Amanda specifically. Though it could have been her, I agree that it is highly unlikely. Which leaves only Cousin Bret ... and you.” It was hard for me to press her this way, but it had to be done.
Mama cocked her head to one side, as though considering the matter. “I don't believe your Cousin Bret is quite brave enough to be a highwayman. If you see what I mean. After all, someone might actually point a pistol at him or laugh in his face. No, I shouldn't think it would be your cousin, either."
What was she saying? I could feel a shiver race down my spine. With the utmost fortitude I drew a deep breath and asked, “And was it you, Mama?"
A tinkling laugh escaped her. I hadn't heard that happy sound since before my father died. “Really, Catherine, is it likely that your poor, aged mother would do such a wild, unprincipled thing? You are grasping at straws, my dear. One of the servants may be up to some mischief, but I doubt very much that he would be a highwayman. That doesn't sound at all like any of our dear helpers, does it? It was probably some costume meant to impress one of the maids."
Not a likely scenario, by my lights. I would have pressed her on the point, except that she had turned to stare at herself in the mirror, caught up in the perusal of the crinkles at the edges of her eyes.
“Am I such an old-looking woman?” she asked. “Your father always made me feel so young that I never thought much about aging. And yet here I am, with these cracks in my face, and my sagging neck, and my graying hair. Do you suppose I will die soon?"
Astonished, I gave her a startled shake. “Don't talk that way! Whyever would you die? You're healthy and not the least bit old, for heaven's sake."
“Harold died. He wasn't old either."
“But his heart was bad. You know the doctor said his heart was bad."
“Perhaps my heart is bad,” she suggested, almost hopefully. “Perhaps there is some disease even now eating away at me. That's possible, you know. Mrs. Standon was eaten up inside that way. She just shriveled up and died. It only took three months.” She gazed off into the distance. “I could be gone in three months."
“You're not going to die!"
“Well, of course I'm going to die. Everyone dies. Don't be such a ninny."
“You're not going to die soon,” I shouted. When Mother was in one of these moods, it was hard to get things through to her, and one was always tempted to shout. It did no good, of course, but I seemed always to manage to do it anyhow.
“Hush! You'll disturb the whole household. And frighten your sister. Amanda doesn't know I'm going to die."
“You are not going to die!” I whispered this time, but fiercely. “You're perfectly healthy, and you're just trying to avoid answering my questions. This is very important."
“Is it?” She still sounded vague. “I shouldn't think anything would make much difference, since I will no doubt be dead soon. But I shall come and talk to you, my dear, when you need comforting. As my friends do, and your father. So many people are afraid of ghosts. You needn't be, you know. They only come to keep you company, to give you advice, sometimes. If you think I would be of no use to you, of course, you must simply tell me.” She brought her head up sharply, eyeing me as if I'd given her offense. “I don't wish to be where I'm not wanted."
“Mama, you must stop this playacting. There's something very much amiss here and I must get to the bottom of it. Do you know what you did last night?"
She blinked at me as though I had lost my mind. “Well, of course I know what I did last night. Do you think I've lost my mind?"
Just then we were interrupted by Amanda, who wandered in, clutching her head. “Oh, Mama,” she said in the most pitiful voice. “I have the most abominable headache. Could you give me one of your powders for it?"
Mama began to fuss around her, completely ignoring me, except to say, “Why don't you run along now, Catherine? I'll be with your sister for a while."
With a despairing shake of my head, I left.
* * * *
At least Amanda was out of the way for a while. Not that I didn't feel sorry for her when she had the headache, but she seemed to milk it for all it was worth. Besides, she was much more interested in my mother's sympathy than in mine. Anyhow, I got dressed and went down to the breakfast room, where I found Sir John seated in lonely splendor, as it were.
He rose when I entered and held a chair for me, with just the tiniest trace of a smile on his lips. “How pleasant to have you join me,” he remarked as he resumed his seat. “Usually your mother and sister are here before you."
“They won't be down this morning; Amanda isn't feeling well and Mama is taking care of her."
“I'm sorry to hear of her illness. I hope it isn't something serious."
“Merely the headache. Apparently it is very painful for a few hours and then gradually disappears. Nothing she can't handle,” I added callously, not wanting him to think Amanda was some sort of weakling. “Robert used to have it occasionally, I recall, but I don't seem prone to it myself."
“Nor I. We must be the lucky ones.” This time he most decidedly smiled at me in that intimate way he had. “Perhaps you'll ride out with me this morning."
“I should have thought your horse had had enough exercise already."
“I beg your pardon?"
“Well, it's not for me to tell you that it's dangerous to be dashing about unfamiliar countryside in the dead of night, but if you have a thought to your horse, you wouldn't do it."
His brows were lowered rather grimly over hooded eyes. “I'm afraid I don't understand you, Miss Ryder."
“I saw you leave the house last night and discovered that your horse was gone from the stable. Why did you go out?"
“If you followed me,” he said, sounding highly dubious, “You must know very well why I went out.”
So that was how he was going to play the game. Well, I knew some evasions of my own and could use them when the circumstances dictated it. “You mean because of the Masked Rider? You mustn't let that sort of prank mislead you. Once a year the servants get up to this trick and no matter how we try to discourage them, they will have their fun."
“How very imaginative of you! Did that just come to your mind, or is it something you worked on all night?"
The hateful fellow! He had the most annoying grin on his lips. I wished to wipe it off instantly, so I said, “I suppose it might have been your own servant, of course. He seems a rather suspicious fellow."
“You're not going to cozzen me with these farradiddles. Don't forget, Miss Ryder, that I was robbed by this Masked Rider of yours, and I can tell you that there was nothing about the person I saw last night that differed from my impression of the person who robbed me."
“Oh, how could you tell?” I scoffed. “It was probably dark when you were made to stand and deliver, and I daresay you were more than a little distracted by your friend. Your impression of the highwayman was doubtless very meager."
Sir John pushed his chair back slightly from the table and replaced his napkin by his knife. “Tell me something. Why are you so determined to make me believe that no one in this household has anything to do with the highwayman? Do you suspect that there actually is some connection?"
“Devil a bit,” I muttered. “What I suspect is that you came here for some other reason than to buy a pair for your carriage. Why don't you tell me what that reason was? Perhaps then we'd be able to deal better together."
He sat for some time with a worried expression on his face, a bit of his lip caught between his teeth. It was
a habit I'd noticed once before and found rather endearing. In fact, I felt my heart do a bit of an acrobatic leap. To disguise this traitorous reaction I took a large bite of Mrs. Cooper's potted beef and sat there chewing it thoroughly, a concentrated expression on my face. Sir John didn't even glance my way for a full two minutes, so I might as well not have bothered.
When he turned to me, a facile smile had taken the place of his more serious concern. “Shall we ride out at ten? Perhaps the two of us should have a bit of a talk about this matter—where we won't be overheard."
“Very well,” I said primly. Though I wondered whether it was a good idea, I really could not resist the opportunity. Of course, I assumed I would learn more from him than he would from me.
My riding outfit is rather delightful, if I do say so myself. Mama had allowed me, against Amanda's expressed wishes, to purchase a steely shade of blue, finished up the front with braiding. There is a hint of that same color in my eyes, though they are green, and it makes them somehow more noticeable. On this occasion I chose to wear it because the day was warm, not because I was riding out with Sir John, of course.
It seemed to me that I should be the one to choose our destination, as I knew the area. But Sir John merely waited for me to mount before leading the way. Miffed, I said nothing, but allowed Lofty to follow Apollo down through the woods on the other side of the stables. Sir John turned to smile at me from time to time, but made no attempt to start a conversation. After a while I became aware that he was actually circling back in the direction of the estate. I instantly understood where he was leading and made a vigorous protest.
“I will not have this discussion by the pond,” I said indignantly. “How could you think of such a thing? Don't you understand that that was an embarrassing moment for me and not an occasion of which I care to be reminded?"
“Embarrassing?” he called back, that devilish gleam in his eyes. “Nothing could be further from my wishes than to see you embarrassed. I would far prefer that you were comfortable with the whole idea. It's warm enough today for both of us to have a little dip in your secret pond."
“Don't be ludicrous! We will do no such thing."
“Very well. But the pond is a good place for our talk, one where we can be sure no one is within hearing range."
There was something so determined about his chin that I felt it would do me absolutely no good to argue with him. He had obviously visited the area since the day we met, for he had discovered a way to ride the horses around the small wood and leave them where they would not be discovered. When he came to assist me down from Lofty, he placed his hands firmly at my waist and lifted me down, retaining his grip for long seconds afterward.
“I am perfectly capable of standing by myself,” I assured him, brushing away his hands. “Follow me, then, and we can sit on the rocks in the sun.” Right where he had sat that first day, actually. But there was nothing for it.
Sir John had removed his boots and carried them in one hand. His other hand was at my elbow, as though I needed his assistance to make my way over the rocks. He kept staring at my bare feet, as though they were some symbol of my depravity. His own feet were far stronger and more impressive than I would have suspected. Once through the narrow passage he moved in front of me and climbed up to where he had sat before.
“Too bad you haven't brought your throat-ripping dog along this time,” he murmured. “Such an impressive beast."
I could almost laugh with him, but not quite. Especially when I noticed that he was loosening his collar. “You are not going to remove your clothes,” I said. “If you do, I shall leave here immediately."
“I have no intention of removing my clothes. Unless, of course, you wish to do so yourself, and then we could both swim without any hesitation."
Refusing to give this suggestion the least consideration, I sniffed and turned the conversation to a different topic. “I want you to tell me why you are up at night and nosing about the place. How did you discover the Masked Rider, and why did you follow him?"
“I have my share of curiosity, my dear girl. And it has been well whetted by the extraordinary events around Hastings."
“You'll have to do better than that. From the first you were spying about. Long before you saw any Masked Rider."
He considered me with those expressive dark eyes of his. "That was your imagination, remember? It was you who wandered about at night, trying to trap me with threads across my door and excursions to my bed."
I could tell, of course, that he was trying to enrage me. Unfortunately, he was succeeding rather well. The spleen rose within me to an alarming level and I could feel my cheeks redden with heat, my heart hammer in frustration. But Sir John wasn't finished.
“It seems most likely to me that it is you who has a secret to hide. That indeed it is you who masks herself and rides out at night, robbing people on the nearby roads of their possessions. What do you have to say to that, Catherine?”
Chapter 9
It had never occurred to me that he thought it might be me whom he had followed. To be sure, I was only slightly shorter than Cousin Bret and only modestly taller than Mama or Amanda, but how could anyone for even a moment believe I was a highwayman? I was so astonished and so insulted that I said only, “You can't possibly believe that."
“I'm not sure whether I believe it or not,” he admitted. “It wouldn't be totally out of character for you. Only slightly more outrageous than your progress through London, your swimming naked in this pond, who knows what else."
For the briefest moment I almost wished that I was indeed that reckless, that fearless, though of course never that lawless. I thought of the freedom one would have to experience to behave in that fashion. Oh, I might have been wild for the likes of our country society, but not that wild.
“...were you doing up?"
I seemed to have missed what he was saying. With an effort I brought my mind back to where I was, sitting in the sun on a hard rock, just gazing at him. “I beg your pardon?"
“Catherine, I want you to answer my questions seriously.” His voice was warm and comforting. I think he must have believed that he could fool me into trusting him. “If you will just tell me what you know about this business, I'm sure I can clear it up. You mustn't worry about any untoward consequences. I promise you that I will be discreet."
That made me frown at him. “Why should you be? And what business is this of yours?"
He sat there for a long time. At length he shrugged his broad shoulders and sighed. “You don't need to know that, my dear."
“Well, of course I do,” I protested hotly. And then true inspiration hit me. “Did Robert send you for this purpose?"
He hesitated for a moment and then nodded.
“But why? What does he know about what's been happening here?"
“Very little, I'm afraid. But he felt he needed to know more."
“That's scarcely an answer at all.” I shifted on the jagged rock, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position. “What does Robert know? He hasn't been down here for months. Since way before the highwayman ... Well, for months, at least. How could he have heard anything?"
“I believe your estate manager mentioned something in one of his reports. And then there is the earl, ever curious about this part of the countryside.” At my look of horror, he hastened to add, “Not that he suspects anything wrong at Hastings. He merely believes that your family should be in a position to put anything right that is wrong in the entire neighborhood."
“He would."
“Yes, I'm afraid so. And there was, of course, my own adventure with the highwayman.” He regarded me with a certain curiosity, as though I might be some strange species of animal that he hadn't encountered before. “Really, I think you would be wise to confide in me."
The poor fellow actually harbored the suspicion that it was I who rode out in that outlandish costume. It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. Did I dare to tell him what little I
knew? What if it was damning to someone when he put it together with whatever he had learned?
“Tell me what Robert commissioned you to do."
Sir John shrugged. “He merely wished for me to look into the matter, Catherine. He didn't feel that he could come down himself just now. And he was willing to let me choose a pair for him, so here I am."
“What is so difficult about his coming down here? Why does he insist on remaining in London?"
“I don't think there's any problem.” His tone became soothing and gentle. “He simply doesn't wish to appear at Hastings for the time being."
It was while I was contemplating this circular reasoning that Sir John chose to distract me completely. He moved a little closer to me and began to run his fingers gently through the wisps of hair that always straggled over my ears. I could feel the texture of his fingertips on my ears and then wandering around to the back of my neck. I didn't know quite what he was doing, but I suspected that it wasn't proper, and I had no intention of stopping him.
His fingers wove a pattern on the back of my neck while he continued to regard me with luminous eyes, their message at once silent and intense. I could feel the depth of his desire to kiss me. Even his lips moved with the need. I pouted mine, in a provocative way but tentatively, and a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Do you want me to kiss you, Catherine?"
My head came up proudly. “Only if you haven't kissed Amanda."
Then he leaned toward me and my heart leapt in my chest as his lips brushed softly against mine. Oh, he knew just what to do. One of the local boys, Gerald Harkins, had thought he kissed with extraordinary dexterity because he latched firmly on to my mouth. If only the poor fellow had had some idea of real technique! The wispy touch Sir John bestowed on me left me aching for more. My mouth burned with the desire to feel real pressure, real passion from his embrace. But his lips did not return.
Instead, they wandered off to my cheeks and my nose and my hastily closed eyes. His touch was like magic, evoking a warmth and excitement wherever it landed. My heart started to beat faster, my insides to churn in a most alarming manner. All of this before his lips returned to mine, capturing them with a light determination that made me consider why women were rumored to swoon during such antics. If not swoon, at least quite lose their heads. I felt as if I had lost mine, certainly. If my life had depended upon it, I don't think I could have drawn back from him.
Miss Ryder's Memoirs Page 10