9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  He smiled to himself at how his whispered invitation had brought a pleasing blush to her cheeks. At least with their engagement and his grandmother’s support, he wouldn’t have to be so cautious of spying eyes. But he and Julia had contended with worried calls from her parents. Now, he must convey what would be an unwelcome announcement to her overbearing father. Would he descend on them with the wrath of a British lion or welcome this unlikely son-in-law?

  Will glanced at the colorful gathering on the stage. Most of the cast were present. Ophelia had already drowned and Julia hovered at the side. She’d changed into virginal white for the play and her glorious hair was wreathed in flowers, her face the essence of uneasiness.

  Jon, recycled from the deceased Polonius, acted as Hamlet’s attendant and greeted Will with a knowing nod. Hamlet had come before the king and queen to fulfill his duty regarding Laertes and the solemn vow to his ghostly father. The hour was at hand for the prince to settle his affairs; Will had arrived at the same point.

  Stripping off the elegant coat, he passed it to Jon. Lyle did the same with an olive-colored jacket and handed it to Paul, acting the part of his attendant. Will wore the loosely styled white shirt, and kept his sable-colored breeches and polished boots. Lyle was similarly attired, his red hair pulled back in a queue. They faced each other across the stage.

  A trumpet fanfare blared from the musicians seated overhead. The reckoning had begun.

  Will smiled at his queen mother and she regally inclined her head. He pretended fondness for his deceitful uncle and bowed graciously to Douglas.

  The red-faced monarch rose from his throne and gestured to Will and Lyle. The two antagonists strode to Douglas and he held out a perspiring paw.

  “‘Come Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me,’” the king said, and joined Will and Lyle’s unwilling hands in a gesture of conciliation.

  Will stared into blue eyes that were none too friendly. “‘Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong. But pardon it, as you are a gentleman,’” he said as Hamlet, not so sincerely as Will. “‘Sir, in this audience free me so far in your generous thoughts that I have shot my arrow over the house and hurt my brother.’”

  Lyle’s thoughts seemed anything but generous. He tightened his mouth, annoyed as Laertes would have been at having to feign appeasement.

  “I am satisfied in nature, but in terms of honor, I stand aloof and will no reconcilement.’”

  The frown knitted at Lyle’s forehead detracted from his aloofness, a man bent on revenge seemed far more apt.

  “‘Yet I do receive your offer’d love like love and will not wrong it,’” Lyle continued, with the false fondness Laertes professed for Hamlet.

  “‘I embrace it freely,’” Will spoke out, “‘and will this brother’s wager frankly play. Give us the foils!’”

  Will returned to Jon, waiting with his blade, mesh gloves, and chain mail vest.

  “‘And one for me!’” Lyle made for Paul ready with the same.

  Douglas clapped his hands for attention. “‘Cousin Hamlet, you know the wager?’”

  They received points for getting in a tapping blow. Blood was not required. “‘Very well, my lord.” Will drew on the reinforced gloves. “‘Your Grace has laid odds on the weaker side.’”

  Douglas belted out his lines. “‘I do not fear it. I have seen you both. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. If Hamlet give the first or second hit the King shall drink to Hamlet’s better health.’”

  Will drew on the mail vest and took the long rapier in hand. Douglas lifted the silver goblet of wine from the carved table in front of his and the queen’s seats. “‘Now the King drinks to Hamlet!’”

  Douglas took a hearty swallow and turned back to his throne and his adoring wife. Grandmother Nora bestowed a warm smile on Will, and he realized she wasn’t just playing a part. For all her fuss and buster, she really was deeply fond of him and pride shone in her eyes.

  This knowledge gave his embattled spirit a boost. He tipped his fingers to her in tribute and strode to the center of the stage. Lyle did the same. The trumpets blasted again as they took several practice swipes. Then they faced each other and touched the tips of their blades together.

  The king lowered his hand. At his signal, they swung. Steel clashed against steel as it had in practice, only this time it seemed far more real.

  The crowd both on and off stage cheered Will on as he ducked Lyle’s intended blow and spun back around.

  “Higher, Laertes!” someone called.

  Again, Will and Lyle faced off. The early part of the duel was tentative as Hamlet and Laertes felt each other out. Will swung and Lyle’s blade crossed his. They circled, eyes fixed on each other. Again and again, they clanged the strongly wrought metal together. Then Will whipped to the side and tapped Lyle on the back with the flat of his sword.

  He held up his finger. “‘That’s one!’”

  “‘A hit! A very palpable hit!’” Jon shouted.

  Lyle stormed off, shaking his head.

  The audience clapped for Will.

  Lyle turned and tore back at him. “‘Well again!’”

  “‘Stay!’” Douglas ordered.

  Ron grabbed Lyle back at the king’s signal. Douglas rose from his throne and walked to the table. “‘Give me drink!’” he said, as he’d decreed. He lifted the goblet and sipped, then took a large pearl from his pocket and dropped it into the cup. ‘“Hamlet this pearl is thine. Here’s to thy health!’”

  He offered the cup to Will. He refused a swallow. “‘I’ll play this bout first. Set it by awhile.’”

  Douglas seemed a little put out by Hamlet’s reluctance, but he set the cup back down. Lyle paused by the table, eyeing the goblet. He stood over it for a moment.

  Trumpet blasts signaled the next round. Will and Lyle faced off and extended their swords. The spark of steel fell in earnest now. They’d rehearsed every step, but Will set his teeth as they lunged back and forth, swinging and clashing. He crossed blades with Lyle, forcing him back.

  Lyle countered with an upward twist and broke free. He swung at Will. In a sudden move, Will side-stepped the whistling blade, and tapped Lyle in passing.

  “‘Another hit!’” Will shouted.

  “‘A touch. I do confess,’” Lyle said.

  Will grew heated inside the mail vest and the crowded hall was stuffy. Both he and Lyle breathed heavily, and not only in acting. Will sat on a low stool and Lyle strode to Paul for a small towel.

  Douglas beamed in supposed delight at Hamlet’s success. “‘Our son shall win.”

  Will offered the deceitful king a salute. Still, Douglas stayed in his chair, making no move to rise and drink his health as promised.

  Instead, the queen mother rose from her throne. “‘He’s scant of breath. Here, Hamlet. Take my napkin, rub thy brow.’” She walked to the table, smiling at Will, and lifted the gleaming cup. “‘The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.”

  An odd turn of phrase, Will thought, but there was no accounting for some of Shakespeare’s choices.

  Douglas leapt up. “‘Gertrude, do not drink!’”

  The willful queen discounted him. “‘I will, my lord, I pray you pardon me,’” she announced with another smile at Will. She raised the cup to her lips and took a long swallow, then flowed to Will in her regal robe and offered the goblet to him.

  He declined. “‘I dare not drink yet, Madame. By and by.’”

  Douglas and Lyle exchanged significant glances and a far more somber king retook his seat.

  “‘Come, let me wipe thy face.’” Queen Nora took a white cloth from her gown and blotted Will’s forehead. She kissed his cheek, and he lightly squeezed her aged hand. She strolled back to her throne under the king’s rueful eye.

  Trumpets sounded for the third and final bout.

  Lyle reached for his sword and Paul shifted it into his grasp. He strode toward Will with the end of his blade dipped in greenish-black dye to resemble t
he deadly poison wolfsbane. Supposedly, the same toxin had permeated the pearl, and consequently, the wine. Queen Nora was about to enact her death scene.

  Will beckoned to Lyle with his sword. “‘Come, for the third, Laertes. Pass with your best violence.’”

  “‘Say you so? Come on!’”

  Will charged, swinging. They came together in a riotous clash. This was the round where Laertes nicked Hamlet with the deadly blade. Lyle would fake a stab at him and then—

  “‘Look to the queen there, ho!’” Jon called.

  Will paused in mid-swing. Lyle did the same, and both swiveled toward the throne. Grandmother Nora had outdone herself. This was her best performance ever. She wiped at her glistening brow, panting in shallow breaths. How had she managed the clammy pallor of her skin? She’d even adopted a believable tremor. Gasping, clutching her chest, she slid down into her chair.

  Weakly lifting her hand, she fluttered her fingers at the cup and uttered the immortal words, “‘The drink. The drink.’”

  Nora’s head lolled back in her chair and Julia shrieked, “She’s poisoned!”

  Wait. That wasn’t Ophelia’s line. She wasn’t even in this scene. Sick dread seized Will. His grandmother wasn’t acting. “Charlotte! Call 911! Have them send an ambulance and the police!”

  The audience gasped in unison. Women cried out.

  The faces of the cast were a shocked blur. Will pointed an accusing finger at Lyle. “Seize him! And don’t touch those swords!”

  “I didn’t bloody do it!” Lyle protested, as Ron and Dave tackled him.

  Will bounded to his grandmother and gathered her, trembling, in his arms.

  Douglas raised stricken eyes. “What’ll we do?”

  In true Nora style, she summoned the strength to murmur, “That’s not your line.”

  Will had the terrible feeling those were the last words she’d ever speak. And more, that poisoned sword had been meant for him. He doubted Lyle ever intended a mere tap with the lethal point.

  Chapter 21

  “I never thought it would be her,” Will said numbly.

  Not only had an ambulance and three police cars arrived, but a state trooper, a ladder truck, the fire chief and Will wasn’t even sure who else. All the techno color flashing in the dark parking lot made the surreal scene even more so.

  Julia slid trembling fingers into his and they watched helplessly from the lawn while two blue-uniformed figures rolled Nora past them on a gurney along the brick walk. Never, ever, had Will thought Midsummer’s Eve would end abruptly with his grandmother wheeled away, IV tubes stuck in her arms, an oxygen mask over her white face as she lay unconscious.

  “Wait,” he entreated the two emergency technicians.

  They paused and he let go of Julia to bend over his unmoving grandmother. “It’s me, William,” he choked past the lump in his throat. “I’ll be right there with you as soon as the police let me come.”

  He squeezed her chilled hand. She didn’t press his in return. He forced himself to straighten and motioned the medical technicians on.

  They hoisted the gurney up into the ambulance and slammed the doors. The finality of that sound ricocheted through Will like a rifle shot. He caught one fellow’s arm. “Is there any chance she’ll survive this?”

  The technician was middle-aged, his creased eyes sympathetic, but masked by years of experience. “We’re doing everything we can for her, Mr. Wentworth, but she’s elderly and has a heart condition. That was an awful lot of poison for one old woman.”

  At least the man had been frank. Will nodded with the daunting realization that he probably wouldn’t ever see his grandmother alive again. How was that possible? She’d always been there, a thorn in his side much of the time, but a driving force like a stiff wind whipping the sails of a clipper ship. He would sorely miss her. Life at Foxleigh without the imperious Nora Wentworth was unimaginable.

  “I should go to the hospital,” Will said.

  Julia retook his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

  Charlotte came up behind them, her voice cracking. “There’s nothing either of you can do there now. Besides, you’re needed here. It’s what Nora would want.”

  At her gentle but firm reminder, Will turned and scanned the distressed people flowing out over the yard and into the parking lot. Some had remained in the house, too badly shaken to stand. The police were taking names and contact information from everyone who’d been present this evening in the event they needed to question them later, a necessary evil that only added to the general woe. No one could budge from the premises until they were cleared to go. The look on their faces was as though someone had zapped them all with a giant taser gun.

  Will was stunned to his core.

  Crime scene investigators were already at work collecting evidence and samples. They’d cordoned off much of the great hall. Will hated to go back in and witness the setting of Nora’s final act.

  “Julia—” His voice broke and he wrapped her in his arms. She held to him in return, and they drew strength from each other.

  “Julia! Tell them I didn’t do it!” Lyle shouted hoarsely.

  Will turned his head. Julia stared wordlessly as three officers ushered Lyle, scuffling, hands cuffed behind his back, to a flashing cruiser.

  “You know I’m innocent, damn you!”

  “She doesn’t know any such thing!” Will yelled back.

  “She knows bloody more than she’s saying!”

  Cold rage churned inside Will. “Keep your lying mouth shut, you son of a—”

  “Will, don’t,” Julia pleaded.

  “It’ll only make matters worse,” Charlotte agreed.

  Will didn’t see how they could be a great deal worse.

  An officer shoved Lyle’s head down and forced him inside the car. They sped off as a familiar sedan pulled in, Detective Williams. And on his tail, the TV news, and not just from one station. A flock of vultures was descending on them.

  Will balled up his hand. “I swear I’m gonna punch somebody.”

  “No.” Julia sounded shaken but resolute. “We’ve got to get through this.”

  Keeping a grip on her fingers, he readied for the cameras and microphones coming at them.

  Betty Bauer was the first in their faces. She must be overjoyed, Will thought bitterly.

  The anchorwoman had the foresight to try and appear solemn, but he noted the glint in her enhanced blue eyes.

  “Is it true there’s been another tragedy at Foxleigh tonight? That the past has gruesomely repeated itself with the poisoning of Mrs. Wentworth by the alleged descendent of Cole Wentworth’s murderer?”

  Despite his raw pain and anger, Will answered flatly, “We can make no comment at this time, other than Mrs. Wentworth has been transported to the hospital in critical condition from suspected poisoning.”

  “But have the police arrested Lyle McChesney?” the indefatigable woman persisted.

  “They have taken him in for questioning.”

  “Isn’t he Justin Cameron’s descendent? And didn’t that same man kill Cole Wentworth?”

  Will fixed her with a frosty stare that would have made Grandmother Nora proud. “That is not for us to speculate. If you will excuse us, we have guests to attend to.”

  A mad scramble ensued as they pivoted away from the cameras to return to the house. Betty Bauer dodged cords and bystanders like a track star to get right back at him.

  “Mr. Wentworth! What about you? Any comments?”

  He didn’t dare say what he thought. The bastard had as good as killed his grandmother and if Lyle had gotten at Will, he’d be in the ambulance with her.

  “No comments at this time.” Not one damn word. Yet.

  Detective Williams strode up alongside them. “I’m afraid I’ll have to inconvenience you with some questions.”

  “I thought you might,” Will said.

  ****

  Clutching a tumbler of brandy in her unsteady hand, Julia sank into the chair at
Will’s kitchen table. What a hellish, seemingly endless evening. One by one, the beleaguered guests had been dismissed. The bulk of Detective William’s focus seemed to be on Lyle.

  She nodded at the bottle of brandy set out on the table. “It was good of Charlotte to leave this for us.”

  Tight-faced and brooding, Will slumped in the chair beside her. “Yeah. She administers brandy like the Brits do tea. Good for whatever ails you.”

  “Tea’s not strong enough for this,” Julia said, then voiced the question going around and around in her mind. “What could Lyle possibly have against Nora?”

  Will raised a shoulder beneath his white shirt and lowered it. “Nora insisted it was Cameron who killed Cole. Lyle felt she’d besmirched his family honor, as if he has any. Maybe that’s cause enough. Who knows? He’s crazy.”

  “I suppose so. But he sounded sincere when the police were hauling him away.”

  “He’s a consummate actor and his sorry ass is on the line.”

  “True.” And that Lyle had a poisoned blade ready for Will wasn’t so surprising after the rounds they’d had.

  Lights still shone outside the window and not just from the patrol cars. “Are television crews going to camp out in the parking lot all night?” she asked wearily.

  Will appeared on the verge of firing a cannon at them. “I should get some vicious dogs to patrol the grounds.”

  “You’d keep the visitors at bay, too.”

  “Our days of hosting tours may be at an end anyway.” He knocked back another swallow, glancing around as Detective Williams entered the frilly room.

  His suit was crumpled over his paunchy form and inky smudges shadowed his eyes. He cast a dubious look at the rosebud wallpaper, dishtowels, and the pink cushions on the chairs, then cleared his throat.

  “We found an old stoneware mortar and pestle hidden in the garden shed that someone used to grind dried roots. Also, an antique bottle with a suspicious greenish black residue left inside.”

  Will ground his teeth in a groan. “Good lord.”

  Detective Williams blotted his perspiring bald head with a handkerchief. “Would I be correct in assuming neither of you knew anything about this, sir?”