I managed to hold my attention to the poem until the last lines.
When living woman gives up breath, oh, willingly,
Then—and only then—shall the haunting babe go free.
I shivered. Though Penrose's efforts were bad poetry, the story of the haunting babe affected me strongly. The image of a baby crying for its mother was a universal one, and the thought that it had been crying so for lo these many years was heartbreaking. I was conscious, too, that soon I might hold my own babe in my arms. And I feared for it.
Penrose was staring at me, and I realized that I had not made any response to his work.
"Have you been writing poetry long?” I asked, not wanting to give an outright opinion.
He shook his head. “Just for the last several years.” He sighed deeply. “If only I could write like Byron. Such fire! Such beauty! He knows Death. He has seen him face to face."
He stopped and clasped a hand to his pocket. “No more paper,” he muttered, more to himself than me. “I must get that down. “Face to face, I met Death."
He was off, leaving his breakfast on his plate, but cramming a muffin into his mouth as he went.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I did not want to hurt the boy's feelings, but he was not a poet. Even I could see that.
I frowned and bit into a hot roll. Penrose should not be moping around the castle, worrying about a deranged mother and scribbling lines about Death. Other youths his age were out living life—away at school or cutting up with the village girls.
I did not wish for Penrose to take up immoral pursuits, though now that I was married, I could better understand the kind of trouble many girls gotthemselves into, but I would have liked to see him behaving as other young men did.
I sighed and finished my ham and roll. Where was my husband? He seemed never to be there when I needed him.
I drank up the rest of my tea and left the table. Why should I wait for Richard? It was daytime now. I would explore the hall and find the secret door. How proud he would be of me when I found it.
I would not go into the passageway, of course, not until Richard came home and could go with me.
The hall was dark, as usual, and the candelabra were too far apart to give any really good light. Still, I was determined. I took a fresh candle and lit it.
Finding the door to the passageway was not as easy as I had imagined it would be. The stones all looked very much alike. Three times I traversed the length of hall from my chamber almost to the archway that led up to the North Tower, but I could not find any trace of a door in the wall.
Wax drippings I found in plenty. It seemed that every other stone had candle wax on it somewhere, but none of them moved to show me a dark hole with a passageway behind it. I poked and pried, breaking several fingernails in the process and raising my temperature almost to the boiling point, but I was no closer to finding the doorway.
By the time I gave up, I was no longer sure I had seen such a passageway at all. What if the events of the past month had affected my mind? What if I had dreamed the whole thing? I had no proof. Nothing to show for my midnight excursion. Muttering under my breath, I went off to the North Tower where I could give vent to a series of colorful curses that turned the air blue.
Papa had never approved of females who cursed. He said it showed lack of taste. However, I thought the whole process was very useful. My cursing made me feel better, and since no one heard it, it harmed no one.
After I had rid myself of some of my irritation, I decided to give the tower room another going over. I set my candle on the table and took out another. Since my being locked in, Gerson had been very careful to keep the room well stocked with candles. The very next day he had had the lock removed from the door. It would close, but no one could be trapped in the room.
I lit the second candle from the first and began to explore the walls. I did not see how there could be any hiding places in the wall. The stones were extremely thick—far too heavy to be moved by a woman.
The herringbone pattern of the fireplace was in perfect condition. No one had tampered with it.
That left the furniture. I took every drawer out of the desk. I checked each to make sure it had no false bottom. On my knees I reached far back into each recess, but there was nothing there. If the desk had once held Caroline's diary, it no longer did so.
I got to my feet. The cot was next. Carefully I removed the coverlet. It still felt clammy, but I didn't let that bother me. The room needed something warm, a woolen cover, but that would have been too commonplace for Caroline. She always had to have silk.
There was nothing in the coverlet. I removed the other bed clothes. I examined the mattress—for lumps, for tears, for seams—for anything that would indicate that her diary was hidden within, but the mattress held nothing.
I looked at the cot itself, but it contained no hiding places.
That left only the armoire. Before I opened it, I went over the outside. I examined each carving, pressing this tendril, that flower bud. Nothing happened. No secret panel slid open to reveal Caroline's diary.
With an exasperated sigh, I opened the doors. Everything seemed as I had left it. I lifted out the chest. The scent bottle was still in it, still as full as the day I first found it. The brush and mirror were there, too. I examined the chest, but it was just that, a chest, and it had no false bottom either.
I put the chest on the stones beside me. Could the armoire itself have a false bottom? I knocked and measured, and finally gave up with another sigh. The armoire held no secret hiding places.
I got to my feet. Perhaps Caroline had once hidden her diary in this room, but if seemed apparent that it was no longer there, and I was no closer to discovering the identity of Sarah's father.
I wondered if Richard knew that Caroline's robe was still hanging there? I had thought his chamber empty of mementoes of her—until I found that handkerchief under his pillow.
I should get rid of the robe, give it to one of the servants. Or, better yet, send it to the vicar for the poor as we had sent Sarah's and Rosamund's black gowns. I reached out to take it then, but the thought occurred to me that Richard might be returning at any time. If I did not want him to see it—and I did not—then I would be better advised to wait till I knew he would be gone for some time.
I closed the armoire door. Soon now, I would be getting a reply to my letter to Papa. I would come here to write back to him. Time enough then to dispose of Caroline's robe. I shivered. Perhaps I would let a maid lift it out. I felt a real reluctance to touch this thing that had once graced my sister's beautiful body.
"You are getting morbid,” I told myself. I snuffed out the extra candle and turned toward the door. “Sarah should be up from her nap. Go play with her."
Chapter Eighteen
The day went by in a normal enough fashion. As was far too often the case, Richard remained away. After I played with Sarah, I spent a pleasant hour conversing with Roland in the library.
It would have been pleasanter had I not kept thinking of Richard's supposed rages and the angry way he had commanded me not to go riding with his brother. But he had not forbidden me the library or ordinary conversation with his twin, and so I made the most of this opportunity for normal talk.
I asked Roland if he had ever heard Penrose recite his poetry. He wrinkled his nose in a gesture very like the dowager's. “Once,” he admitted. “But it was really very bad.” His smile was disarming, so warm, so cordial. Sometimes I almost forgot that it was Roland, and not Richard, that I was talking to.
"I'm afraid I offered too much criticism.” Roland's eyes sought mine. “This is not a good place for the boy to grow up. Richard should have sent him away to school."
I masked my rising apprehension. Hadn't Richard told me that he had offered Penrose this very thing? “I can understand Penrose not wanting to leave his mother."
Roland looked surprised. “Oh, he would have left her if Richard had wanted to send him."
Uneasi
ness was stalking me again. Why must Roland tell me such disquieting things about my husband? Richard had told me that Penrose refused to leave his mother, and I had believed him.
But now—Richard had kept so much from me, starting with the existence of his distressing relatives. Was this one more thing he had conveniently forgotten to tell me?
Roland smiled at me. There was something about his smile that made me uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the memory of that mistaken kiss, that fiery kiss. When I was with him, I never could tell whether his warmth was simple friendliness or something else, something that a man should not be thinking about his brother's wife.
"Poor Vanessa,” he said, leaning over to pat my hand. “You are having a hard time of it, aren't you, my dear?"
"A little.” For a moment I considered telling him about the ghost and the passageway, but I had no proof of what had happened. Even more important, I knew Richard would not like my taking his brother as confidant.
"It is very different here,” I continued. “I am accustomed to very ordinary circumstances. Here everything is so unusual. Rosamund is ill. Penrose is strange. Your mama does not like me...."
Roland sighed. “I know. Believe me, Vanessa, I have tried to get her to change, but Mama is quite set in her ways."
I thought the dowager a mean-spirited old harridan, but I could not say that to her favorite son. I did say, “I do wish she would be kinder to Sarah. The child shouldn't be told that her mother didn't want her."
Roland nodded. “You're right, of course. But that really wasn't Mama's fault."
I stared. “Not her—"
He frowned. “Sarah was listening outside the door. We did not know she was there."
"I thought she was kept in the nursery."
Roland shook his head. “Creighton is getting on in years. She cannot control the child.” His smile grew tender. “It seems Sarah has taken a liking to me. Perhaps it's because Richard has so little time for her."
I could not dispute that. My heart ached for Sarah and her loss.
Roland continued. “That day she had slipped away from the nurse and was looking for me. When she heard us discussing Caroline, I suppose she was naturally curious and stopped to listen."
The poor child, to have heard such terrible things. “I am glad you have been such a good uncle to her, Roland. She is fortunate to have you."
His smile grew even warmer. “I confess I have quite a tenderness for the child, and I am glad you came into her life. She is much happier now."
"Thank you."
Gerson came then to announce dinner, and off we went to the dining room. My good humor evaporated, however, when I discovered that Richard had not yet returned. He was spending more and more time away from me, and I did not like it.
* * * *
By bedtime my temper had risen several more degrees. The night before I had been visited by a ghost and almost lured into a dark hidden passageway, and today I had not even been given the opportunity to inform my husband of these things.
He came striding into my chamber as I was struggling with the last hook on my gown. He dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Good evening, my dear."
Good evening, indeed! I evaded his help. “Where have you been?” I knew I sounded like a fishwife, but I could not help it.
Richard raised an eyebrow. “I had estate business to attend to. You know I cannot always be in your pocket."
I laughed, but it was not with humor. “In my pocket! I am lucky if I get a daily glimpse of your face."
"Vanessa!"
I wanted to rant on a little more, but something in his expression stopped me. So I swallowed my next remarks and said instead, “But at least you are with me now."
A peculiar expression crossed his features. “My dear, I'm afraid not."
"What!"
"It always takes Rosamund a night or two to calm down."
"But Richard—” I felt a childish inclination to run into his arms for comfort. Instead I glared at him.
"I'm truly sorry, Nessie."
His use of my pet name only made me angrier. Why must I always come after everyone else in the castle? Why couldn't I be first for a change?
Richard gathered me into his arms. I knew I was holding myself stiffly, but I couldn't help it.
"It's just for tonight, Nessie. I promise. Tomorrow night I'll be back in your bed."
I could not believe that I had to face another night alone. “Richard, last night there was a ghost—"
He scowled. “Vanessa, how many times must I tell you? Ghosts do not exist."
I kept a hold on my temper. “Very well. But there was a person—all in white."
Richard frowned down at me. “And where did you see this person?"
"In the hall and—"
"Vanessa! You left your bed?"
Too late I realized that I had let myself in for a scolding, but I had to go on. “I couldn't help it. It called me. I thought I could catch it.” Spoken so baldly, my words sounded childish, even to me. Unfortunately, they were true.
Richard's frown grew fierce. “And did you catch it?"
"Of course not. It vanished."
"Vanessa, I told you. There are no—"
"I did not say it was a ghost,” I interrupted. “This person went into a doorway in the wall.” I was becoming exasperated. Why wouldn't he believe me?
For the first time Richard looked as if he did believe me. “A doorway? Where? What happened?"
"I followed down the hall after it disappeared. A section of the wall was tilted out. You could squeeze through the hole. I went into the passageway, but a cold wind almost put out my candle.” I hesitated in the telling. I did not like to admit my timidity, even to my husband. “I grew frightened and came back out."
He crushed me to him. “Thank God! Tonight you must stay in your bed. Tomorrow we will find the door and the passageway."
I shook my head. “It's no use. I looked for it today, but I could not find it."
"We'll search again tomorrow.” He stared at me intently. “I want your word that you will not leave this bed."
He looked so worried that my heart was touched. “You have it,” I said.
"Good.” He gave me another kiss. “Be a good wife now and obey me. Your tea should be up shortly."
I watched him go. Then I finished undressing and climbed into bed. I thought it very unlikely that I would do much sleeping that night. The ghost would know I was alone, but I determined that this time I would listen to Richard. This time I would stay safe in my bed, no matter what.
Before long the maid came up with the tea. I poured a cup and sipped slowly. Yes, I would be awake all night, waiting for Richard's return. I finished my tea and set the cup down. I could not believe it, but I was already feeling sleepy.
I checked the candles. There were plenty in the drawer. Then I found myself staring at the candle's flame. It was so beautiful I could hardly take my eyes from it.
Suddenly I jerked and opened my eyes. To my surprise I realized I had been sleeping sitting up. I slid down among the pillows. The urge to sleep would not be denied. I had to let my eyes close.
My dreams were nightmarish, far worse than any I had ever had. In my dream I heard a noise and tried to get out of bed, but my head was so heavy and my legs would not support me. The parts of my body were like strangers to me. They ignored my commands.
In my dream I called for Richard, but he did not come. There was only blackness and the suffocating feeling that I could not breathe. I tried to move, but I was paralyzed.
Then a stranger appeared. He was dressed all in black, and a black hood swathed his head. He did not speak a single word, but wrapped me in a great cloak that covered my head. I struggled for air, for freedom, but the stranger was strong, much stronger than I in my weakened condition.
There was a lapse of time in which I could remember nothing. Then the cold night air revived me a little. Because of the cloak over my head, I could not see. But a man's arm was aro
und me, and a curious rocking motion made me slightly ill. Finally, I realized I was on horseback.
Again I slept, but my slumber was shattered by the sudden stopping of the horse. I tried to understand this peculiar dream, but my mind was cloudy. I could not think clearly at all.
Suddenly I felt myself falling, but before I could cry out, I hit something soft. I fought the entangling folds of the cloak, but by the time I had freed my head, I could see nothing but a dark figure on a light horse, galloping away.
What a strange dream. I lay down upon the ground, wrapped the cloak around me, and slept.
I do not know how much later it was when I awoke. When I did, I saw that I was not in my bedchamber. My head ached fiercely. Hazily, I recalled my dreams, and then the realization hit me. I saw that the dreams were not dreams at all, but reality filtered through my drugged mind. Someone had drugged me—it must have been in the tea—entered my chamber and carried me off.
I sniffed and looked around. The air held the tang of salt. The sea must be nearby. The sand under my bare feet was cold and wet. I shivered. My nightdress was also wet, and the cloak was not much drier.
I huddled in the cloak, trying to think logically, trying to piece it together. What did this person hope to accomplish by abducting me and leaving me here?
It was true that I was afraid of the dark, but the night was bright with moonlight, and besides, no one knew of my fear but Richard. And even with my fear, I could manage until morning when I could make my way back to the castle.
I leaped to my feet. Why wait till morning? Papa had taught me how to navigate by the stars. There was no need to sit here shivering. I would be home before daybreak.
I looked around. Though I could smell it, I could not see the ocean. Sand stretched in every direction. Tall strands of grass swayed on softly swelling dunes, and in the moonlight the sand glittered like molten gold.
It was actually very pretty. If I had not been cold and wet, and fiercely angry, I might have been more appreciative. As it was, I spared only a passing thought for its beauty. All my concentration was on the stars.
The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle Page 18