by Dorothy Mack
“You may take him away with you when you go. He’s been getting fat and lazy since I gave up riding, but the breeding’s there. You may just get yourself a champion from him.”
“I know just the mare to breed him to, the loveliest little bay with beautiful conformation.” In his enthusiasm, Vincent turned to William, seated beside him on the sofa, and gave his shoulder a resounding smack. “Well, you dull old dog, I wish you joy of this great ark. I may have just acquired a Derby winner.”
“How dare you insult William and strike him like that, you ill-bred, jealous oaf! Were you not content with making his childhood miserable with your rough, bullying ways?”
Every eye in the room was fixed on the taut figure of Mrs. Ridgemont, her round face contorted with rage, her posture proclaiming an intention to spring upon her stunned nephew with outstretched claws.
“Madeleine, control yourself!”
“Mama, please, my dear! Vincent meant nothing by his remark; it was said in jest.” William’s voice carried over his father’s sharp command.
“Yes, Aunt, pray forgive my boorish attempt at a joke. I freely confess that I bullied William unmercifully during our youth, but you will be glad to know that all ended when he turned sixteen and developed a punishing right hand that kept me in my place from then on.”
Hearing the remorse in his voice and seeing the concern on his face as he made his aunt this handsome apology, Sarah liked Vincent better than she ever had before, happy to detect a spark of humanity in his makeup at last.
“There, you see, Mama?” William’s tones were coaxing and gentle.
“Yes, yes, I am sorry too, only I have such a frightful headache. If you will excuse me, I shall go to my room.” Mrs. Ridgemont was pale and shaking as she got awkwardly to her feet.
“Shall I come with you, Aunt? I can get you a powder for your headache,” Sarah said.
“No, not you!” Mrs. Ridgemont put up a shaking hand to her forehead and attempted to control the note of hysteria in her voice. “William will come with me, and my maid will mix me a powder. Thank you just the same.” The last words were nearly inaudible as she leaned on her son’s arm and allowed him to lead her from the room, past the two figures who had entered in time to witness the embarrassing scene just ended.
“Richard, where have you been all afternoon?” Sarah cried, perceiving the newcomers for the first time.
Her voice seemed to release everyone from the trancelike state induced by the recent unpleasantness. A collected breath was expelled and murmurs of conversation broke out.
Lord Eversley, who accompanied Richard into the room after holding the door open for the departing mother and son, said easily, “Richard rode over to Eversley this afternoon and brought me back for tea. I trust I have not come at an inconvenient time?”
Inconvenient! Sarah swallowed back a hysterical giggle at the thought as her grandfather said cordially, “Not at all, my boy, come in. Sarah will give you a cup of tea, unless you’d prefer sherry?”
“Tea will be fine, sir.” Mark’s eyes followed Sarah as she prepared the tea Aunt Townsend poured out. He accepted the cup in one hand and took her elbow with the other to steer her to a settee at a little distance from the main grouping.
Sarah felt they must be the centre of all eyes, but her grandfather began to question Richard about his afternoon’s adventure, and some of the others started spontaneous conversations at that point. “Why did Richard ride to Eversley today?” she asked, though she was afraid she knew the answer before she finished uttering the question.
“He came to tell me what happened here last night. Thank goodness he has more sense than you seem to possess, Sarah. You must not remain in this house tonight. I have come to take you to Eversley with me. My mother will be happy to welcome you until this group leaves Beech Hill.”
“Thank Lady Eversley most sincerely for me, Mark, but it won’t be necessary for me to run away.”
“I beg your pardon, but it is most necessary. I refuse to let you remain exposed to mortal danger.” His expression was harsh with determination and anxiety.
Sarah hastened to reassure him. “No, you do not understand, Mark. Grandfather has just told everyone of the changes he made in his will. I’m to have a dowry, and he plans to settle a sum on Richard too, but no more than Arabella and Cecil will receive. If there was some fear that he would make either of us his principal heir, that is now removed. There is no longer any reason to try to … to —”
“To kill you? There was never a reason, not for a sane mind. Do you call stringing that wire across the stairs the action of a sane mind?”
“Perhaps not, but the danger is past, my dear. Please, don’t look like that.”
They had been conducting their argument in low urgent tones, oblivious to everyone else in the room, but now Sir Hector called over to the engrossed pair, “Did you hear that, Sarah? Horace had just told me he has made plans to remove from here tomorrow.”
Somehow Sarah managed to say what was proper to the occasion, though the greater portion of her intelligence was concerned with devising a convincing argument to ease Mark’s anxiety.
At that point William came back into the room and headed directly over to Sarah and Lord Eversley, his expression strained as he dropped into a chair set at right angles to the settee. “Sarah, I am the bearer of an apology from my mother for being short with you just now. She was not herself, but her maid has put her to bed and she will be better in a few hours. Sometimes she gets the most terrible headaches…” His voice trailed off.
“That’s all right, William,” Sarah said. “I know what torment it is to suffer from the migraine. There is nothing for it except to go to bed and stay there until the pain goes away.”
There was no opportunity for the betrothed pair to resume their interrupted discussion during the remainder of Mark’s call as William stayed planted in his chair while Mark sat in a simmering silence he broke only when directly applied to for comment. For once, William’s flair for knowing when his presence was not appreciated did not seem to be operating, and Sarah, deliberately obtuse, refused to recognize the significant looks directed at her by her impatient fiancé. In the end, Sarah received a rather abrupt farewell from Mark, who then proceeded to isolate Richard in a corner for a lengthy private talk before he actually departed, leaving Sarah a prey to all the insecurities that can beset a newly betrothed girl.
She dressed for dinner that night with less than her usual attention, too depleted to sit patiently while Maria fussed over her hair. Her reaction was a bit odd, she told herself, considering that everything had worked out so wonderfully well. Only Aunt Adelaide had been disgruntled at learning the provisions of her father’s will. Vincent, it seemed, had never expected anything; he had come at his mother’s behest to present a picture of family solidarity. She pushed aside a stray thought of the effect Arabella’s marriage plans would have on this pretty picture. Sufficient unto today were today’s problems. The Ridgemonts would depart tomorrow if Aunt Ridgemont were up to traveling, and perhaps the Townsends would follow suit. Certainly they would if Simon Rydell made Lady Townsend a formal offer for Arabella’s hand.
Thinking this could well be the last evening of enforced intimacy with her enlarged family, Sarah pinched her cheeks to encourage some colour and went off to the drawing room wearing a determined smile.
Actually it turned out to be a pleasant evening. Now that her grandfather’s arrangements were out in the open, there was a noticeable reduction in tension in the atmosphere. Mrs. Ridgemont did not put in an appearance that evening, nor did Sir Hector, whose big scene had left him too fatigued to wish to put forth the effort required to preside at his table. The others conversed easily on all manner of topics, with the upcoming London season dominating Lady Townsend’s conversation. In the course of the evening she even managed to address a few civil remarks to her niece, from which Sarah gathered that past hostilities were to be forgotten in future. She was grateful, though her f
ather’s sister would never be listed among her favourite persons.
Arabella was a bit subdued, no doubt anticipating the imminent parting with her doctor, but there was an attractive air of serenity about her that Sarah considered a tremendous improvement over her former frenetic vivaciousness. The only sad note was that William distanced himself a little from Sarah.
He was as kind as usual, but tonight he did not seek out her company. Even knowing in her heart that this was the wisest course, Sarah mourned a little for the loss of the delightful companionship they had enjoyed so briefly.
Oddly enough, she found herself reluctant to end the evening. A new chapter would begin tomorrow, a chapter alive with the promise of love and happiness, so it was strange to wish to prolong the present. What a perverse creature she must be!
She shook her head at her own foolishness as she entered her bedchamber. Solitude at last — and rest. She had not realized how tired she was until she had gone in to say goodnight to Richard just now. His air of suppressed excitement had struck her at once because it was in such marked contrast to her own feeling that it required more strength than she possessed just to keep her head upright on her neck. She had laughingly agreed to his request to read in bed for a while since he didn’t feel sleepy at all. So much for the soporific properties of hot milk!
One thing was certain, she concluded as she slumped wearily onto a chair and bent to remove her shoes: there would be no need of hot milk to induce sleep for her tonight after going essentially sleepless the night before.
Sarah paused in the act of drawing off her shoe, her face frozen in its “portrait” look. She drew in a shaky breath. How could she have forgotten that she had spent the previous night and most of this day in a state of morbid fear that someone was planning to kill her? She expelled slowly and her mind began to function again. Of course she had not forgotten the hours she had spent cringing behind locked doors last night or her anxiety at facing her relatives earlier today. Had she not dropped into the nursery during Richard and Lottie’s evening meal to tell them of the revelations her grandfather had made at tea in order to set their minds at ease?
As she resumed removing the other shoe, it was with a sense of unreality that Sarah acknowledged that she had not thought of her earlier fears once during the evening just passed in the company of these same relatives. She shook her head in wonderment, but total exhaustion was rapidly taking possession of her mind and body. She was beyond thinking or wondering at anything.
Sarah made short work of undressing, not even bothering to put her hair in the single braid she usually adopted for sleeping. She tossed a handful of pins on the dressing table, snuffed the candles, and crawled thankfully into her bed. She was asleep before the scent of the snuffed candles had dissipated.
At first the dream was lovely. Golden sunshine bathed her uncovered head as she wandered in a sweet-smelling meadow dotted with hundreds of daisies and buttercups. She was tempted to gather a few, but her feet took her onward. The field abutted a wood, a rather inviting sight since the sun’s rays were growing hotter. The deep-green wood promised coolness and shade, and she could see glimpses of lovely flowers, an unfamiliar variety with enormous white blossoms with deep-red centres. Enchanted, she hurried forward, glad to escape the rising heat.
But she could not escape it. There was no cool air in the forest, no air at all, and strange vines were hanging from the trees. They seemed to be reaching out for her, and she could not evade them, try as she would to twist and turn. They were squeezing her, one was wrapped around her throat, choking her. Her efforts to tear away the vines so she could breathe were draining her of strength, and everything was growing darker. She was afraid of this darkness that was descending so rapidly. She tried to scream and could produce no sound. She could neither scream nor breathe, and her flailing arms were ineffective against the vines. Weak and desperate, she exerted one last frantic effort to pull them away, flinging her arms out madly into the suffocating silence.
Sarah became vaguely aware of sounds, in the far distance at first and then coming closer as she drew in great gulps of air. She heard her name called repeatedly by a man — Mark? — but there were other sounds too, strange guttural grunts and bursts of angry invective.
“Sarah, open your eyes. Are you all right? Stop that, you murderous bitch! Stay still.”
Sarah opened her eyes on darkness and fought a consuming panic, but though it was dark, she was breathing more easily. The darkness was not so enveloping as before, she realized shortly. There was a dim light somewhere off to the right, but it was enough to illuminate the struggling forms moving in front of her bed. Her bed! She was in her own bed in her own room, and others were in here too.
“Sarah, can you hear me? By God, if you’ve killed her, I’ll strangle you here and now.”
“I’m not dead, Mark,” Sarah responded to the agony in his voice, though it hurt to speak.
“Thank God!”
Her dazed understanding made little of the movements around her, but the larger figure, which must be Mark, was half-carrying, half-wrestling the other to the hall door, which he succeeded in opening after more struggling. His loud voice calling for Somers echoed up and down the stairwell.
By the time Lord Eversley, marching his now quiescent antagonist before him, came back into the room, Sarah had managed to light the bedside candle, despite fingers that shook throughout the lengthy operation. She was dragging on the soft rose-coloured wrapper that Maria had laid across the foot of the bed hours earlier when Mark appeared within the circle of light, holding a woman in front of him by her two arms. He then twisted her arms behind her back, gripping her wrists together in one of his hands. The woman thus imprisoned had her head down while she struggled for breath, but Sarah recognized her.
“Aunt Ridgemont!” Her hand went to her throat.
Slowly, Mrs. Ridgemont raised her head while her laboured breathing steadied. The two women looked at each other. Sarah flinched from what she saw in the other’s face, and her eyes grew wide with horror and bewilderment. “Why?” she whispered.
“Do not play the innocent with me, you vile, deceiving wretch,” her aunt spat at her. “Did you think I did not see the way you enticed William with your honeyed tongue and smiling ways? And then, when you had made him fall in love with you, you broke his heart because you had lured a richer fool into your net, you wicked, heartless jade.” This passionate diatribe ended in a whimper of pain as Lord Eversley jerked on her arms when she tried to lunge at the shrinking girl on the bed.
“Sarah, what has happened?”
Three persons erupted into the room at that moment. Lottie, her gaunt figure tightly wrapped in a robe of maroon wool, two long salt-and-pepper braids dangling below an incongruously frilled nightcap, sent her voice ahead as she marched in behind the running boy. Bringing up the rear was the small erect figure of Somers, still dignified despite a badly tied dressing gown, whose collar was half inside, and thin ankles on view below his nightshirt. All three had obviously heard something of the screaming invective because their eyes were fixed on Mrs Ridgemont in fascinated horror.
Lord Eversley took charge before any more questions could be asked. “Somers, go fetch Mr. Horace Ridgemont. Richard, check to see if the commotion has awakened your grandfather. If it has, reassure him that everything is under control, but do not under any circumstances allow him to come up here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I was right, wasn’t I, sir?” Eagerness ran through the boy’s voice.
The viscount said grimly, “I am glad someone is pleased.”
“Oh,” said Richard, deflated, “it is not that I am pleased, exactly.” He cast an unhappy glance at the straining woman and swallowed. “I … I’ll keep Grandfather away, sir.” He backed toward the door, saying soberly, “I am glad you are all right, Sarah.”
“Richard!”
“Yes, sir?”
“For what you did for your sister today, I thank you from the bottom
of my heart.”
“Yes, sir!” The boy hurried out of the room, obviously bursting with pride.
Somers, his face troubled, followed at a pace more befitting his years and station. When Mark turned back, he saw that Lottie had gone over to the bed, where she now sat with her arm around a quietly weeping Sarah. He made an involuntary move in that direction before, with lips clamped firmly together, he turned away and sought a chair across the room, into which he pushed his prisoner with a curt command not to move.
Mrs. Ridgemont did not appear to hear him, but she made no resistance. She too was crying by now, soundless, despairing sobs that shook her body as she rocked to and fro in the chair. Mark could hear Lottie murmuring soothingly to Sarah as he stood over Mrs. Ridgemont. It seemed an eternity before Somers returned with a bewildered Horace Ridgemont in tow, but no one spoke in the interim.
Horace, wearing a dressing gown of bright-green brocade, stopped short at the sight of Lord Eversley, dressed for riding and standing guard over the huddled figure of his wife. His eyes took in the two women seated on the bed before returning to his father’s stony-faced neighbour. He cleared his throat and came slowly into the room, his reluctance palpable.
“Somers told me you were here with my wife, but I thought he must be mistaken. He would not tell me anything more.”
“He did not know anything more. Thank you, Somers, that will be all.”
The valet bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door softly.
“What is wrong with my — with Mrs. Ridgemont, Eversley? What are you doing here in Sarah’s bedchamber?”
“I regret to tell you, Mr. Ridgemont, that a few minutes ago I was barely in time to stop your wife from killing Sarah. She was trying to smother her by holding a pillow over her face. I was hiding in the room next door —” he nodded toward the servant’s bedroom — “but if Sarah had not knocked over the water pitcher on her bedside table in her struggle to resist, I’d have been too late.”