by Amanda Quick
A part of her wondered at the ease with which she had abandoned her quest. She had been distraught and furious at the time but she was not nearly so angry now. Indeed, she suspected she was experiencing a small, niggling sense of relief. There was no doubt but that other matters were taking precedence in her life again and deep inside she longed to be able to give them her full attention.
I am carrying Julian’s child.
It was still difficult to believe but each day the notion became more and more real. Julian wanted this baby, she reminded herself, on a wave of hope. Perhaps it would help strengthen the bond she sometimes allowed herself to believe was growing between them.
Sophy moved around the room, still unusually restless. She eyed the bed once more, telling herself she ought to climb into it and get some sleep and then she thought of the room down the hall, the one she planned to move into as soon as possible.
On impulse Sophy picked up a candle, opened her door and went down the dark hall to the bedchamber that had once belonged to Elizabeth. She had been inside once or twice and did not find it pleasant. It was decorated with a bold sensuality that, to Sophy’s taste, was unseemly.
The underlying theme of the room had obviously been heavily influenced by a taste for chinoiserie but it had gone far beyond the normal standards of the style into a realm of dark, lush, overwhelming eroticism. When Sophy had first glanced into the bedchamber she had thought it a room ruled by the night. There was a strange, unwholesome quality about the place. She and Mrs. Ashkettle had not tarried long after getting the door open.
Holding the candle in one hand, Sophy opened the door now and found that, even though she was prepared for it, the chamber affected her again in the same way it had earlier. Heavy velvet drapes kept out all light, even that of the moon.
The designs on the black-and-green lacquer furniture were probably supposed to represent exotic, iridescent dragons but the creatures looked very much like writhing snakes to Sophy. The bed was a thickly draped monstrosity with huge clawed feet and a smothering layer of pillows. Dark wallpaper covered the walls.
It was a room that a man such as Lord Byron with his penchant for sensual melodrama might have found exciting, Sophy reflected, but one in which Julian must have felt uneasy and unwelcome.
A dragon seemed to snarl in the candlelight as Sophy moved past a tall lacquer chest of drawers. Lurid, evil-looking flowers patterned a nearby table.
Sophy shuddered with distaste and tried to imagine the room as it would be when she was finished with it. The first thing she would do was replace the furniture and the drapes. There were several pieces in storage that would go nicely in here.
Yes, Julian must have disliked this room intensely, Sophy thought. It was definitely not done in his style at all. She had learned he favored clean, elegant, classic lines.
But, then, this had not been his room, she reminded herself. It had been Elizabeth’s temple of passion, the place where she had spun her silken webs and lured men into them.
Compelled by a deep, morbid curiosity, Sophy wandered about the chamber, opening drawers and wardrobe doors. There were no personal effects left. Apparently Julian had ordered the room emptied of Elizabeth’s belongings before he had locked it for the last time.
It was not until she casually opened the last of a series of tiny drawers in a lacquer chest that Sophy found the small, bound volume. She stared uneasily at it for a long moment before she opened the cover and saw that it was Elizabeth’s journal.
Sophy could not stop herself. Setting the candle on the table, she picked up the small book and began to read.
Two hours later she knew why Elizabeth had been near the pond on the night of her death.
“She came to you that night, did she not, Bess?” Sophy, seated on the small bench outside the old woman’s thatched cottage, did not look up as she sorted through both fresh and dried herbs.
Bess heaved a deep sigh, her eyes mere slits in her wrinkled face. “So ye know, do ye? Aye, lass. She came to me, poor woman. She was beside herself that night, she was. How did ye discover that she was here?”
“I found her journal last night in her room.”
“Bah. The little fool.” Bess shook her head in disgust. “This business o’ the ladies o’ the quality scribblin’ everythin’ down in their little journals is dangerous. I hope ye don’t go in for it.”
“No.” Sophy smiled. “I do not keep a diary. I sometimes make notes about my reading, but nothing more. It is all I can do to keep up with my correspondence.”
“For years I’ve always said no good ’ll ever come of teachin’ so many people readin’ and writin’,” Bess stated. “The real important knowledge don’t come out of books. Comes from payin’ attention to what’s around and about us and what’s in here.” She tapped her ample bosom in the region of her heart.
“That may be true but unfortunately not all of us have your instincts for that kind of knowledge, Bess. And many of us lack your memory. For us, being able to read and write is the only solution.”
“’Tweren’t no good solution for the first Countess, was it? She put her secrets down in her little book and now ye know them.”
“Maybe Elizabeth wrote down her secrets because she hoped that someday someone would find them and read them,” Sophy said thoughtfully. “Maybe she took a sort of pride in her wickedness.”
Bess shook her head. “More’n likely the poor woman could nay help herself. Maybe the writin’ was her way o’ leeching some of the poison out of her blood from time to time.”
“Lord knows there was a poison of some kind in her veins.” Sophy remembered the entries, some jubilant, some obscene, some vindictive, and some tragic that recorded Elizabeth’s affairs. “We’ll never know for certain.” Sophy was silent for a moment as she sealed herbs in a series of small pouches. The late afternoon sunlight felt good on her shoulders and the smells of the woods around Bess’s cottage were very sweet and soothing after the air of London.
“So now ye know,” Bess said, breaking the silence after a moment.
“That she came to see you because she wanted you to rid her of the babe she was carrying? Yes, I know. But the journal ends with that entry. The pages are all blank after that point. What happened that night, Bess?”
Bess closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. “What happened was that I killed her, God save me.”
Sophy nearly dropped a handful of dried melilot flowers. She stared at Bess in shock. “Nonsense. I do not believe that. What are you saying?”
Bess did not open her eyes. “I did not give her what she wanted that night. I lied and told her I did not have the herbs that would rid her o’ the babe. But the truth was, I was afraid to give her the kind of help she demanded. I couldn’t trust her.”
Sophy nodded in sudden understanding. “Your instincts were wise, Bess. She would have had a hold over you, if you had done what she asked. She was the kind of person who might have used the information to threaten you later. You would have been at her mercy. She would have come to you again and again, not only to rid her of future unwanted babes but to supply her with the special herbs she used to stimulate her senses.”
“Ye know about her usin’ the herbs for that reason?”
“She frequently wrote in her journal after having eaten opium. The entries are a wild jumble of meaningless words and flights of fancy. Perhaps it was her misuse of the poppy that made her act so strangely.”
“No,” Bess said quietly. “’Twas not the work of the poppy. The poor soul had a sickness of the mind and spirit that could not be cured. I expect she used the syrup of the poppy and other herbs to give herself some relief from the endless torment. I tried to tell her once that the poppy was very useful for physical pain but not for the kind of pain she suffered, the kind that comes from the spirit. But she wouldn’t listen.”
“Why do you say you killed her, Bess?”
“I told ye. I sent her away that night without givin’ her what she
wanted. She went straight to the pond and drowned herself, poor creature.”
Sophy considered that. “I doubt it,” she finally said. “She had a sickness of the spirit, I’ll grant you that, but she had been in her particular condition on at least one previous occasion and she knew how to obtain the remedy she sought. After you turned her down, she would have simply gone to another who would have helped her, even if she’d been forced to return to London.”
Bess squinted at her. “She got rid of another babe?”
“Yes.” Sophy touched her own stomach in an unconscious gesture of protectiveness. “She was breeding when she returned from her honeymoon with the Earl. She found someone in London who made her bleed until she lost the babe.”
“I’ll wager ’twas not Ravenwood’s babe she was tryin’ to shed the night she drowned,” Bess said with a frown.
“No. It was one of her lover’s.” But Elizabeth had not named him, Sophy recalled. She shivered a little as she finished tying up the last of her selections. “It grows late, Bess, and if I am not deceived, a bit cool. I had best be on my way back to the Abbey.”
“Ye have all the herbs and flowers ye’ll be needin’ for a while?”
Sophy stuffed the small packets into the pockets of her riding habit. “Yes, I think so. Next spring I believe I will put in an herb garden of my own at the Abbey. You must give me some advice when that time comes, Bess.”
Bess did not move from her bench but her aged eyes were keen. “Aye, I’ll help ye if I’m still around. If not ye already know more’n enough to plant yer own garden. But somethin’ tells me ye’ll be busy with more that gardenin’ come next spring.”
“I should have known you would guess.”
“That ye’re breedin’? ’Tis obvious enough for them that has eyes to see. Ravenwood sent ye back to the country for the sake of the babe, didn’t he?”
“Partly.” Sophy smiled wryly. “But mostly, I fear, he has banished me to the country because I’ve been a great nuisance to him in town.”
Bess frowned anxiously. “What’s this? Ye have been a good wife to him, haven’t ye, gal?”
“Certainly. I am the best of wives. Ravenwood is enormously fortunate to have me but I am not always sure he realizes the extent of his good luck.” Sophy picked up her horse’s reins.
“Bah. Ye be teasin’ me agin. Go on with ye now, afore the air gives ye a chill. Be sure to eat hearty. Ye’ll be needin’ yer strength.”
“Do not concern yourself, Bess,” Sophy said as she swung up into the saddle. “My appetite is as large and as unladylike as it ever was.”
She adjusted the folds of her skirt, making certain the small packets of herbs were safely stowed and then she gave her mare the signal to move off.
Behind her Bess sat on the bench, watching horse and rider until both disappeared into the trees.
The mare needed little guidance to find the shortcut back to the main house. Sophy let the animal pick her way through the woods while her own thoughts strayed once more to the reading she had done during the night.
The tale of her predecessor’s downward spiral into something very close to madness had not been particularly edifying but it had certainly made compelling reading.
Sophy glanced up and saw the fateful pond as it came into sight through a stand of trees. On a whim, she halted the mare. The animal snuffled and began searching about for something to nibble while Sophy sat still and studied the scene.
As she had told Bess, she did not believe Elizabeth had taken her own life and the journal had revealed the rather interesting fact that the first Countess of Ravenwood knew how to swim. Of course, if a woman fell into a deep body of water wearing a heavy riding habit or similar attire, she might very well drown regardless of her skill in water. The enormous weight of so much water-logged fabric would be hard to handle. It could easily drag a victim under the surface.
“What am I doing pondering Elizabeth’s death?” Sophy asked the mare. “It’s not as if I am bored or without enough to do already at the Abbey. This is foolishness, as Julian would no doubt be the first to tell me, were he here.”
The horse ignored her in favor of munching a mouthful of tall grasses. Sophy hesitated a moment longer and then slipped down out of the saddle. Reins in hand, she went to stand at the edge of the pond. There was a mystery here and she had an intuitive feeling now that it was not unrelated to the mystery of her sister’s death.
Behind her the mare nickered a faint welcome to another horse. Surprised that anyone else should be riding along this portion of the Ravenwood lands, Sophy started to turn around.
She did not move quickly enough. The horse’s rider had already dismounted and moved in too close. Sophy had a brief glimpse of a man in a black mask carrying a huge, black, billowing cloak. She started to scream but the folds of the cloak swept out to engulf her and then she was imprisoned in a muffling darkness.
She lost her grip on the reins, heard the mare’s startled snort and then the sound of the creature’s hooves striking the ground. Sophy’s captor swore viciously as the horse’s hoofbeats faded into the distance.
Sophy struggled frantically within the confines of the cloak but a moment later strong cords were passed around her midsection and her legs, chaining her arms and her ankles.
The wind was knocked out of her as she was thrown across the pommel of a saddle.
“Would you kill me at this late date for what happened nearly five years ago, Ravenwood?” Lord Utteridge asked with a world weary sigh of resignation. “I did not think you were so slow when it came to this sort of thing.”
Julian faced him in the small alcove off Lady Salisbury’s glittering ballroom. “Do not act the fool, Utteridge. I have no interest in what happened five years ago and you know it. It is the present that matters. And make no mistake: what happens in the present matters very much.”
“For God’s sake, man, I have done no more than dance with your new Countess. And only on one occasion, at that. We both know you cannot call me out on such a flimsy pretext. It will create scandal where there is none.”
“I can understand your anxiety about even the mildest conversation with a husband, any husband. Your reputation is such that you are unlikely to be comfortable in the company of married men.” Julian smiled coldly. “It will be most interesting to see how your attitude toward the sport of cuckoldry changes once you, yourself, are married. But as it happens, I seek answers from you, Utteridge, not an appointment at dawn.”
Utteridge regarded him warily. “Answers about what happened five years ago? What is the point? I assure you, I lost interest in Elizabeth after you put bullets in Ormiston and Varley. I am not a complete fool.”
Julian shrugged impatiently. “I do not give a bloody damn about five years ago. I have told you that. What I want is information on the rings.”
Utteridge went unnaturally still and alert. “What rings?”
Julian opened his fist and revealed the embossed black ring in his palm. “Rings such as this one.”
Utteridge stared at the circlet of metal. “Where the devil did you get that?”
“That need not concern you.”
Utteridge’s eyes lifted reluctantly from the ring to Julian’s expressionless face. “It is not mine. I swear it.”
“I did not think it was. But you have one like it, do you not?”
“Of course not. Why would I want such an unremarkable object?”
Julian glanced down at the ring. “It is singularly ugly, isn’t it? But, then, it symbolized an ugly game. Tell me, Utteridge, do you and Varley and Ormiston still play those games?”
“By God, man, I tell you, I have not done more than exchange a few words with your wife on the dance floor. Are you hurling accusations? If so, make them plain. Do not fence with me, Ravenwood.”
“No accusations. At least, not against you. Just give me answers, Utteridge, and I will leave you in peace.”
“And if I do not give them to you?”
&
nbsp; “Why, then,” Julian said easily, “we must discuss that dawn appointment you mentioned a moment ago.”
“You would call me out simply because you’re not getting the answers you seek?” Utteridge was clearly taken aback. “Ravenwood, I tell you, I have not touched your new bride.”
“I believe you. If you had, rest assured I would not be content with putting a bullet in your arm the way I did with Ormiston and Varley. You would be dead.”
Utteridge stared at him. “Yes, I can see that is a very real possibility. You did not kill anyone over the issue of Elizabeth’s honor but you are obviously prepared to do so on behalf of your new lady. Tell me, why do you need answers about the ring, Ravenwood?”
“Let us merely say that I have assumed the responsibility of seeing justice done on behalf of someone whose name need not concern you.”
Utteridge sneered faintly. “A cuckolded friend of yours, perhaps?”
Julian shook his head. “A friend of a young woman who is now dead along with her unborn child.”
Utteridge’s sneer vanished. “Are we talking about murder?”
“It depends on how you look at the matter. The one on whose behalf I am acting definitely thinks the owner of this ring is a murderer.”
“But did he kill this young woman you mentioned?” Utteridge persisted.
“He caused her to take her own life.”
“Some stupid little chit gets herself seduced and in trouble and now you seek vengeance for her? Come now, Ravenwood. You are a man of the world. You know that sort of thing happens all the time.”
“Apparently the one I represent does not view that as a sufficiently mitigating circumstance,” Julian murmured. “And I am bound to take the matter as seriously as my friend does.”
Utteridge frowned. “Who are you representing? The mother of the girl? A grandparent, perhaps?”
“As I said, that need not concern you. I have told you enough to assure you that I am not going to put a bullet in you, Utteridge, unless you force me to do so. You need no more information.”