The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Roland looked surprised. “I've heard nothing of that."

  "That's because the magistrate refused to do it. Or so the vicar claims."

  Roland nodded. “Of course. Pemberton knows Richard well."

  I discovered that my hands were shaking, and I hid them in the folds of my skirt. “The vicar sounded—he sounded as if he believed it himself. He talked about provocation. He called Caroline a Jezebel."

  Something flickered in Roland's eyes—distaste, no doubt. “I know she was bad,” he said. “That she caused Richard no end of pain. But to suppose that he would kill her—that is outrageous."

  Roland rose and put a warm hand on my shoulder. “Calm yourself, my dear. Varish knows which side his bread is buttered on. He will defend Richard, never fear."

  I stared up at my husband's twin. “You mean he will defend him even if he thinks him guilty?"

  "Of course. The vicar's living comes through Richard."

  I felt as though right and wrong no longer had any meaning. “But he is a man of God, surely—"

  "Vanessa, my dear.” Roland patted my shoulder. “You are elaborating too much on this. Richard is quite safe.” He pulled a chair up close to me. “You wanted me to tell you the cause of the animosity Richard feels for me."

  I had almost forgotten that in my mental chaos over the vicar's remarks. But I did want to know. “Oh, yes, please do tell me."

  "It happened when we were boys—eight or nine. I don't remember exactly. But we were up in the stable loft. Not the present stable. Richard had it built new several years ago. He had the other one torn down."

  He paused and poured himself some tea. “Well, as I said, we were up in the loft, playing highwayman, and Richard fell."

  I found this story bewildering. “If he fell, why should he be angry with you?"

  Roland looked embarrassed. “He says that I pushed him. Deliberately."

  "Oh, no!"

  Roland nodded. “Actually—no, never mind."

  "Tell me. Please tell me."

  He sighed. “We were struggling. And he said—” He paused and looked slightly ill. “He was only a boy, you understand. And he was wild with jealousy because Mama favored me."

  He looked pained. How difficult that must have been for him. “When I got old enough to understand, I could see what it was doing to Richard, but I could not get her to change."

  He sighed again. “At any rate, as we were struggling, Richard whispered that he meant to kill me. Then he would be Mama's only son. I laughed, thinking he was joking. And—and he tried to push me out of the loft."

  Cold terror clutched at my heart. If Richard had done such a thing then....

  "It was when he tried to push me that he slipped and fell. He hurt his leg and was in bed for several weeks. He told Papa that I had pushed him, and our father punished me, but I didn't care. I was just glad Richard had not been more badly hurt.” He sipped his tea and frowned. “I don't know what went on in his mind. Perhaps he truly believes that I pushed him. As Rosie believes she is talking to her Jeffrey."

  This story was not at all what I had expected to hear. For some moments I sat in stunned silence. It was difficult to believe that Richard could have done such a thing. That my Richard, whom I had loved for so long, had tried to kill his twin.

  Roland patted my arm. “Please, my dear, don't let the story distress you so. Remember, we were just boys. No harm was done, and we get along reasonably well now."

  I did not reply to this. I could not. For the first time I was entertaining serious doubts about my husband's character. It was not a pleasant feeling, and while I was still trying to deal with my emotions, the dowager entered.

  "I heard the vicar was here."

  "Yes,” I replied. “He and his sister."

  "You mean the viper.” It was one of the few times I found myself in agreement with the dowager. “The vicar spoke as though Richard might have been responsible for Caroline's death,” Roland told his mother.

  "I would like to think so,” the dowager replied with a hard glance at me. “It would greatly redeem him in my eyes."

  "Your Grace!” For a mother to wish her child to become a murderer....

  She shook her head. “If ever a woman deserved to die, it was Caroline, duchess of Greyden. She had carnal knowledge of nearly every man in the parish. Richard should have killed her."

  Suddenly I could stand no more. I leaped to my feet, and without even offering an excuse I rushed out. As I used to when I was upset as a girl, I headed for the comfort of horses. They were much more decent than people. And far far kinder.

  Chapter Ten

  The stable was warm. Sunshine streamed in the open tops of the stall doors. Richard's horses, I thought angrily, lived better than his wife and daughter.

  But I could not stay angry long, not when Mercury whuffled a greeting and the other horses joined in. Not when the comforting smell of horses, and leather, and hay was all about me.

  "Toby?” I called.

  "Here, Yer Grace.” His face was still grimy, but his smile was friendly. I liked the boy.

  "The duke did not take the stallion today?"

  "No, Yer Grace. He took the carriage, you see. Something about an old woman wanting to visit her husband's eternal resting place. And her too old and sick for walking that far. ‘Tis a good man, the duke is. Always going about helping folks as needs help."

  "Yes.” I was no longer sure about Richard's motives, but I did not intend to discuss them with the stableboy.

  The great blue-gray stallion shifted and pranced in his stall, throwing his head about and tossing his mane. I knew he wanted some exercise. ‘The stallion is restless today."

  Toby grinned. “Aye. He needs his run every day, or he fidgets about somewhat dreadful."

  I smiled. “Then perhaps I should take him out for a ride."

  Toby's face turned so pale his freckles stood out through the grime. “Ah, I can't be letting you do that, Yer Grace. He'd have my skin, the duke would."

  I tried for dignity. I drew myself erect. “I'm a very good horsewoman."

  "Aye, Yer Grace. I've no doubt of that. But I got me orders. No one rides the stallion but the duke himself. Not Mr, Roland. Nor yet Mr, Penrose. And she weren't allowed neither."

  My heart skipped a beat. “Toby, are you talking about my sister?"

  Toby nodded. “Aye. That's what made it so strange. Her being in his stall and all. She never rode him—not never. So why was she in there with him?” Toby shook his head. “It don't make no sense, it don't. She had a sharp tongue, the lady.” He grimaced. “Sharper'n any whip. And she beat a horse now and then. But I never seen her go into a stall to do it. It don't make no sense."

  It made no sense to me either. Caroline had been strong-willed, selfish, even cruel, but not stupid. Never stupid.

  I stroked the stallion's smooth gray neck. Toby's eyes widened. He was obviously impressed by my nerve. “Since I can't ride the stallion,” I said, “I'll take out the black mare—Fancy."

  "But Yer Grace—"

  I was sorry to be rough on Toby, but being there in the stable was not enough for me. I badly needed to feel a horse under me. “Didn't His Grace say the black mare was to be mine?"

  "Yes, Yer Grace.” Toby didn't look at all happy. But he was a stableboy, not a barrister. He knew how to follow direct orders, and it was clear he'd had no orders on this.

  "Yer Grace, I ain't so sure—"

  "Saddle the mare,” I commanded. “Or I will do it myself."

  His mouth gaped and he stared at me.

  "I mean it,” I said firmly. “I have saddled many an animal in my day. I mean to have a ride today, and no one is going to stop me."

  It was unfair of me to put the boy in such a position. I knew very well that Richard did not want me to ride alone, but the pressures of the day's events, added to those of the previous night, made me ready to explode. I had to get away from the castle and its inhabitants. I needed some time to myself—to think
about the shocking revelations of the day. To be on horseback had always helped me to think more clearly.

  Toby looked doubtful, but he capitulated. Fancy was saddled and led out.

  "You ain't dressed for riding,” Toby said.

  I realized he was right, but the need to ride was strong within me. “I don't mean to go far,” I said.

  Toby knew when he was beaten. He offered me his cupped hands. I put my foot in them and was tossed up.

  "Don't worry about me,” I repeated as I hooked my leg in the proper position and settled my skirt. “I'll be back soon."

  He went to hold open the stable door and stood watching me as I rode off. The sun was bright, the breeze from the ocean tangy with salt. I thought of going to the sea, to the golden beach where Richard and I had spent such a happy hour, but the thought of the quicksand put me off.

  The mare was feeling her oats, lifting her heels in sheer joy at living and moving. There on the road I could control her, but the beach was a different matter. If the waves were high, she might shy at them. And with quicksand lurking....

  That decided me. I turned the mare's head away from the sea and took the road down from the castle. Without my boots the stirrup was uncomfortably hard against my ankle, and the side-saddle suddenly seemed an instrument of torture. As we got farther into the shade, the breeze grew more chill, and I had to stop and tie my shawl in a knot about my shoulders.

  Of course, any sensible woman would have admitted defeat and turned back, but when I was upset, I was far from sensible, and I desperately needed this brief escape. So in spite of everything I rode on.

  Sunlight coming through the leafing trees dappled the road, and gradually my distraught thoughts slowed their racing. I wished I could simply enjoy the day—the sun, the breeze, the buds of spring—but the things I had heard kept reverberating in my mind.

  Cressadine Varish could be discounted. She would accuse her own brother if it earned her an entree into enough homes. Her bitterness and sharp tongue might be the result of her spinsterhood, but somehow I felt they were more the cause than the effect. No sane man would marry a woman with Miss Varish's tongue. The vicar had no doubt already earned his sainthood simply by living with her for so long.

  No, if Miss Varish had been the only one to accuse Richard, I should have paid her little notice, perhaps even have laughed at her. But she had not been the only one. It was clear that the vicar supposed my husband, if not guilty, at least capable of killing his wife.

  I still could not understand the vicar's behavior. If he believed Richard had done this terrible thing, why did he not add his voice to those who wished the magistrate to bring charges?

  Of course I knew that there were venal men in all walks of life. But Papa valued honesty. And for Roland to tell me that a man of God would protect the guilty in order not to lose his living—this was a piece of intelligence that did great damage to my ordered perceptions of right and wrong.

  Then there was the story of Richard's fall. How could I believe that my beloved husband had tried to kill his twin? That was a horrid thing.

  Perhaps Roland was mistaken. Perhaps Richard really had been joking. Boys that age were often rough in their play. It could be a misunderstanding on both their parts. I wanted desperately to believe so.

  The road from the castle led into a larger thoroughfare. I turned left, away from the sea, and urged the mare on.

  I don't know how long I rode. Without my boots, I was most uncomfortable; but my body was no more uncomfortable than my mind, and it was good to be away from the castle.

  Up ahead the trees lining the road grew smaller and fewer, and suddenly there was the moorland. I drew in my breath. Such beautiful country. The gently rolling land stretched into the distance. It looked so peaceful, so free of evil and pain. Without thinking, I turned the mare off the road.

  The land was not as gentle as it had first looked. Here and there outcroppings of stone reared above the furze and sedge, and in the distance shadowy peaks hinted at mysterious and ancient inhabitants, but I had no thought to spare for people of ancient times.

  I wanted most fervently not to think at all, to retreat to those happier hours when none of these terrible stories had yet been known to me.

  No matter how I tried, I could not forget what I had heard. I could not go back to those days of innocence when I had looked with joy to my coming life with Richard.

  While I was lost in my musings, I let the mare follow her own inclination. Finally, the fact that her walk had slowed reached my troubled mind. Looking up, I saw that she was picking her way among huge tumbled rocks. I roused myself to look behind me for the road, but it had disappeared.

  I did not let this frighten me. Papa had early taught me how to use the sun for direction. It was now throwing my shadow to the right. I had only to turn the mare around, keep my shadow on my left, and retrace the route to the road. A simple matter.

  Except at that moment the sun went behind a cloud and I had no shadow. I turned the mare anyway and headed her in what I hoped was the right direction. The sun would soon come out again.

  But the clouds above me continued to darken. Gray and sullen, they gathered in ever greater masses, and in the distance thunder rumbled.

  I looked around, but there was no place to take shelter. The scattered stones offered little or no protection from the elements. I pulled my shawl tighter and rode on. Soon now, we must come upon the road, and I would be safely on the way home.

  As the sky darkened and the wind rose, even the castle began to take on pleasing aspects. Our squabbles seemed petty and trivial in the face of nature's rising fury. But the castle was far away, and I was not at all sure in which direction it lay.

  Still, I kept the mare moving. I thought, too, of giving the animal her head. Perhaps she would turn homeward. But I did not know how long Richard had had her. Would she return to his stable, or would she perhaps take me back onto the barren and now frightening moors?

  The wind grew rougher, loosening the pins in my hair and blowing wild strands down to sting my eyes. It tugged at my shawl and my skirt, flapping them furiously.

  Then the heavens opened. The rain fell in great soaking drops. Soon my hair hung in sodden strands, my gown was plastered to my shivering body, and my teeth began a mad chattering.

  The rainswept moor was barren and empty, my clothes were soaking wet, and I had no idea of how to get back to Greyden Castle.

  In spite of my fiery temper, I had always been a believer. And so I thought to pray. But to be truthful, I did not see why the good Lord should be bothered to help me extricate myself from a position into which my own stupidity had taken me.

  Only a fool—or a very distraught woman—went riding alone into unknown territory. Richard had warned me against that very thing, and I had promised I would not do it.

  But I had let a mean-mouthed, hateful woman's words and the tale of a boyish misunderstanding make me doubt my husband, and now I was paying for it.

  I raised my hand to push the dripping hair from my eyes. A terrible clap of thunder seemed to shake the whole earth, and a bolt of lightning sizzled into the soil not twenty feet away.

  The mare decided she had had all she could manage. She took the bit between her teeth and ran for dear life, almost unseating me in the first leap.

  I am indeed an excellent horsewoman, and I had often ridden to hounds, but then I had been properly dressed. Not only did I lack boots, but the rain-soaked gown dragged at my limbs, giving me difficulty in keeping my seat.

  The heavy rain made it impossible to see where we were going, and I grew fearful that in her wild flight the mare would crash into some stones or trip over something and throw me.

  Suddenly she gave a great bound and we were on the road. I had no time to be grateful for that discovery, though, for through the pelting rain I could see a carriage bearing down on us.

  The mare reared and neighed in terror. I knew instantly that I would not be able to keep my seat.

/>   The driver swore—a nice round oath Papa would have approved of—and hauled back on the reins.

  I suppose I guessed this last because by that time I was flying through the air. I hit the road with a dull thud and lay there, eyes closed, struggling to regain my breath.

  The rain was cold on my face. I knew I was lying in a puddle of cold, wet mud, but all I could think of was getting air into my tortured lungs. Like an animal in pain I whimpered and moaned.

  Suddenly the rain stopped falling on me. I opened my eyes to find someone bending over me.

  "My God! Vanessa! What are you doing out here?"

  I could not answer, of course, and he seemed to realize this. “Harry, go catch the mare."

  One by one, Richard tested each of my limbs. I indicated that I felt no pain. Then he was lifting me in his arms. I felt the heat of his body, so strong, so comforting. How could I ever have doubted him? He lifted me onto the seat and wrapped me carefully in the carriage robe.

  His dear features twisted into a frown. “I know you've had the wind knocked out of you,” he said severely. “But you are fortunate to have gotten off so easy. Why were you out on the moor in a storm like this? Whatever were you thinking?"

  By this time I had regained a measure of breath. I had never liked being scolded, and I did not like it then. “I did not go out during the storm,” I protested. “When I left the castle, the w-w-weather was sunny and b-b-bright."

  Though my breathing was more normal, my teeth went on chattering.

  Richard continued to frown. “The weather changes rapidly here. And you might well have lost your way or fallen into a bog."

  "A b-b-bog?"

  "Yes. The moor is notorious for such places."

  Sucking sands on the beach. Quaking bogs on the moors. And in the castle.... Everywhere I turned dangers awaited me.

  But I did not say so to Richard. He was angry enough already. And, since I had already regretted my headlong flight from the castle, and been giving myself a severe scolding, I had no wish to receive another from my husband.