The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle

by Nina Coombs Pykare

Finally I nodded. The castle lay in one direction, the sea in another.

  I was cold and tired. My head ached abominably. I wanted just to climb into my bed and sleep, but first I had to get to it.

  I wrapped the cloak carefully around me. Because the stranger had needed to keep me from seeing him, he had had to leave me the cloak. How fortunate for me, I thought grimly.

  It is usually better to be angry than to be afraid. Deliberately, I fueled my anger. Richard was going to hear about this! It was high time he took proper care of his wife. If he had been with me, this would not have happened. The ghost had never bothered me when Richard was there.

  My direction set, I started out. The sand was damp under my bare feet. The night air was chill.

  Since I had no idea how far the stranger had brought me, I also had no idea how far I would have to walk, but I was determined.

  Then I remembered. The quicksand! The thought frightened me so that I stopped in midstride and almost fell. Perhaps that was it. The stranger meant for me to blunder into quicksand, and whatever I knew—or he thought I knew—would perish with me.

  My legs gave out suddenly, and I sat down, right in the wet sand. If this was the stranger's intent—and it certainly seemed likely—then he had probably dropped me near a place where there was quicksand.

  The beautiful golden sand took on sinister qualities. How could I take another step when the sucking sands might swallow me up?

  The night air was quite chill. Even with the protection of the cloak, I was shivering. If only I knew more about this treacherous sand. There must be some way to recognize it.

  Logic, I told myself. You must use logic. So I set myself to recall everything I knew about the subject, and pitifully little it was. Richard had told me that the sands could not be distinguished from others—until they were stepped into.

  I certainly did not want to discover their whereabouts in such a dangerous fashion. I sighed. If the only way I could tell the dangerous areas was to let myself be sucked into one of them, then I was doomed to wait here till someone found me. There must be another way.

  Of course! The quicksand would swallow anything. All I needed was a good heavy rock. I would drop it before me to test the way.

  I looked around me. The moonlight made the beach shimmer. I squinted against the brightness, looking for a rock. I could see none within reaching distance, but about ten feet away lay one that looked just the right size.

  Slowly and carefully I got to my feet. If I could just get to that rock ... I tested each footstep before I moved forward. Even so, by the time I reached the rock, I was soaked with sweat. I could never have made it home like that. The tension was too great for any human being to long endure.

  I fell to my knees in the sand and pried the rock loose. I was panting for breath, and I hardly knew if I could go on, but I knew I must.

  No one would come looking for me. No one even knew I was gone. I could hope for no help till long after daybreak.

  I got to my feet and fixed on the stars again. Then I rolled the stone a few feet and followed it, rolled it a few more and followed it. No doubt this sounds like a long and tedious process, as indeed it was, but I had never been able to sit and wait. I had to do something to help myself.

  I stopped to rest often. The stone grew heavier and heavier, but still I pressed on. Twice, just as I rolled the stone, clouds covered the moon, and the stone's path was obscured from my sight. So, when I could see again, I could only hope that I was walking in the right place.

  The sky was beginning to streak with dawn's light when I once more sat down to rest. I was bone weary and did not know how much longer I could go on. And to make matters worse, I was starting to think some very uncomfortable thoughts. When I reached the castle, what then? Would I be safe? Or would I be in more danger?

  Sitting there, I actually, for a small space, contemplated following the ghost's advice and leaving Greyden Castle. I would have done it in a minute if I could have persuaded Richard to go with me.

  But heartsore and weary as I was, I knew that I could never leave Richard. I had married him for better or for worse, and only Death could part us.

  I shivered. If the ghost had succeeded, if I had panicked and run wildly off into the quicksand. Death would have parted us.

  Morbid, I told myself. I was getting as morbid as Penrose. Soon I would be writing odes to Death and his coming. Weary as I was, the thought made me smile a little. No doubt my poetry would be even worse than Penrose's.

  Once more I lifted the rock and struggled to my feet. Then I heard it, the distant neighing of a horse.

  My first thought was to call out and run toward the sound, but second thoughts stopped me. Why would anyone be riding on the beach at daybreak? Maybe my abductor had come back to see the job properly finished. Trembling, I dropped to my knees and huddled there, hardly daring to breathe.

  The first light of dawn touched the beach, and far in the distance, silhouetted against the rising sun, I saw the figure of a horseman. Even in silhouette I could see that the horse was light. My heart rose up in my throat. I looked wildly around for a place to hide, but there was none. For the first time I gave in to despair.

  "Vanessa! Vanessa!"

  Hope sprang into my heart. That was Richard's voice. Once more I got to my feet. “Here!” I shouted. “Richard, I am here!"

  It took him only minutes to cover the distance between us. He swung down and gathered me in his arms. “My love! I thought I had lost you."

  Now that I was safe, I could give way to the tears I'd been holding back, but I did not cry long. I had too many questions to ask. “How—how did you find me?"

  Richard stroked my tangled hair. “I came back to the room early. Rosamund was sleeping soundly, and I wanted to be with you. When I found you gone, I was terrified."

  The stallion thrust his head between us, and I rubbed his nose. “But why did you come here?"

  Richard frowned. “My first thought was that you had followed the ghost again, but then I saw the candle was still there. Even you would not follow without a candle. So I surmised that someone had taken you."

  "Someone did!"

  "Did you see who?"

  "No. He wore a dark hood. And ... and I believe I was drugged.” I put my hands to my throbbing head. “At first I thought it was all a strange dream. Then I woke up and found myself in the sand."

  Richard pressed me close. “My God, Vanessa! You are soaked."

  "Nightdresses are not much protection against the elements, but he had wrapped me in a cloak so I had that."

  "We must get you home,” Richard said.

  He set me on the stallion's back and swung up behind me. His arms closed around me protectively. As I leaned back against him, I asked, “Richard?"

  "Yes, dear?"

  "Why did you search for me here—on the beach?"

  His voice sounded strange. “I didn't."

  "I don't understand."

  "I was frantic. I didn't know where to look or what to do. Finally, I went to the stable, and Toby told me the story of a horse who found his master when he was lost in a snowstorm. The horse seemed my only hope. So I showed your handkerchief to the stallion. Then I saddled him and gave him his head."

  I sighed. “He found me. Mercury found me."

  "Yes, dear.” Richard's lips were warm on my neck.

  "That should prove to people what a good horse—"

  "Vanessa, perhaps it would be wiser not to talk about this.” Richard's voice sounded strained.

  "But the servants will talk. You know how that is."

  "Only Gerson and Toby know you were missing.” He sighed. ‘There has been so much talk about us. And all of it bad."

  I thought of Mrs. Brewster. “Perhaps not all of it,” I said. But I could appreciate his thinking. “I shall not mention it,” I assured him, “but I cannot believe no one saw you leaving the castle. Word will probably be out before we reach home."

  * * * *

  Toby
saw us coming and rushed out, his face wreathed in a great smile. “He did it!” he cried. “The stallion found her."

  "Yes,” I said. “And thank you, Toby, for your help."

  The boy bobbed his head. “'Tweren't nothing, really. His Grace, he were near out of his mind. And I just thought to trust the horse. Horses is smarter'n we give ‘em credit for."

  I smiled at that. “You're quite right, Toby. Horses are wonderful."

  Richard swung down and reached up for me. It was pleasant to feel solid ground beneath my feet, ground that I could be sure would not swallow me up.

  Leaving the stallion to Toby, we walked toward the castle together, our arms around each other.

  Gerson opened the door, his face stolid.

  "Hot water,” Richard ordered. “Right away."

  The butler nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

  Now that I was safe, my strength began to desert me. I faltered and swayed, grabbing the bannister.

  "Here now.” Richard swung me up in his arms. “You're exhausted."

  I did not argue. Right then I didn't feel as though I could take another step.

  Soon my husband had me in my room. He stripped off my wet sandy nightdress and rubbed me with a blanket. By the time the hot water arrived, warmth was returning to my body. Richard dismissed the maid and washed me carefully with his own hands.

  He pulled a fresh nightdress over my head. “But it is daylight,” I objected.

  He dropped a kiss on my nose and tucked me into bed. “So it is,” he said. “But I think you'd best stay abed this morning."

  He began to undo his cravat. “And I believe I'll join you."

  His smile warmed me clear to my bones

  "Nothing more is going to happen,” he said, his voice firm, “because I am never going to leave you alone at night again. Never. I promise you."

  Chapter Nineteen

  As the day began I nursed Richard's promise to me and I slept.

  When I woke, Richard was gone. Perhaps I should have been more upset about what had happened to me, but I had always been a stalwart sort. Papa always said I bounced back quickly. I was deeply in love with my husband, who had just that morning given me ample proof of his love for me. Perhaps even then I was carrying the child I had promised him. Our child.

  I smiled and stretched. Then I rose, dressed, and went downstairs to silence my stomach, which was insisting that it had been overlong since last night's dinner.

  I found the breakfast room empty, but though it was past noon, Gerson soon provided me with an ample repast, and I settled down to fill my stomach.

  Some time later, I put down my empty cup and pushed back my chair. Now I felt I was ready to face another day.

  Hardly had I reached my chair in the library when Gerson appeared. “Miss Varish has come to call, Your Grace."

  I masked my surprise. “With the vicar?"

  "No, Your Grace. Miss Varish is alone."

  Something about that did not sit well with me, but as the duchess of Greyden I could hardly refuse the vicar's sister admittance. “Show her in,” I said.

  She came, wearing a plain black bonnet suitable for visiting the dead. It was so different from the bonnet she had last worn that I felt it must portend something dire. Still, I forced myself to smile. “Miss Varish, how kind of you to call."

  She selected a chair and settled into it. Her little black eyes searched my face, and my heart fell. This visit was clearly not a coincidence. Cressadine Varish had heard something, and she was here to discover whatever else she could.

  "You poor dear,” she began. “Such a terrible experience."

  A frontal assault. I raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Whatever are you talking about?"

  "There's no need for dissimulation,” she whispered. Her eyes were like a weasel's, quick and full of malice. “The whole village knows."

  I swallowed a sigh. I hadn't thought Richard would be successful in hiding what had happened from the village gossips. Obviously something had been going about.

  But I had made a promise to my husband. So I would tell Miss Varish nothing. Besides, though it was perhaps unChristian, I knew I should enjoy thwarting her plans.

  I smiled sweetly. “What does the village know?” I inquired. “Do tell me. I am always eager to know the latest news. The French have not been acting up again, have they?"

  Miss Varish gave me a look that would have melted a lesser woman, but I, having recently survived encounters with a ghost and an abductor, was not about to let a mere woman get the best of me.

  The vicar's sister snorted, an indelicate sound, and sighed loudly. “There is no use your denying it, my dear. I have come here to get the facts.” She leaned forward, like a snake just before it strikes. “With the facts I can clear everything up."

  I did not like the sound of the word “deny.” What cause had I—except Richard's request which she could know nothing about—to deny anything? For a moment I almost forgot myself and decided that it would be better to give her the true story.

  Then she leaned forward again, licking her lips, and I knew that the facts would not help us. Anything I might tell Cressadine Varish would be twisted and molded to fit the story she wanted to tell. It would be best to stick to my guns and not let her know anything.

  I picked up my needlepoint. “What facts are these?” I asked, measuring a length of thread.

  Miss Varish's nose wrinkled. “The facts of last night."

  I frowned, as though to concentrate. “Last night. Let me see. Last night the family had dinner. His Grace was late getting home, some business in the village. He came in at bedtime. We talked a little and went to bed."

  Her eyes looked as though they would start from her head. Her lips parted avidly. “And then..."

  I could not help myself. She was such a terribly provoking woman. I put my hand upon my breast and affected dismay. “Really, Miss Varish! Such an indelicate question!"

  For the first time I saw her falter and a flush rise to her pale cheeks. Then she gathered her forces. “I was not inquiring into your matrimonial life,” she said stiffly.

  I pretended surprise. “Oh, you were not? I beg your pardon, then. It certainly sounded to me as though you were."

  She frowned. “I assure you, I was most certainly not. I have no interest in such details."

  I contented myself with a soft “Indeed."

  In spite of her embarrassment, Miss Varish did not give up. “It was the other events of the night to which I alluded."

  I put on my most innocent face, the one Papa said would convince anyone but him. “I slept. I dreamed.” I paused and sighed. “I am dreadfully sorry, but I cannot recount my dreams for you. I neglected to remember them. And then this morning I awoke."

  For an instant I saw the malice deep in her eyes. This woman hated me, and I really had no understanding of why that should be so.

  Then, just as I thought I had bested her, the door opened. I knew before I turned that Miss Varish's visit was no longer in vain. Her eyes had widened, and they gleamed with a kind of avarice.

  "Softly, darkly, comes my love.” Rosamund approached the fire, crooning to herself. “Softly, darkly, and his name is Death."

  Miss Varish's mouth closed with a sharp snap. I had no hope that the words of Rosamund's song had escaped her. Before nightfall the whole village would know what Richard's sister had been singing.

  And, of course, Rosamund was wearing her orange ball gown. Either she had refused the ministrations of her maid or she had forgotten and pulled her hair down afterwards. At any rate, it hung around her face in a mad tangle that made her look even wilder. She sank to the hearth rug and wrapped one lock about her finger.'

  "Softly, darkly,” she sang, wrapping the hair. “Comes my love,” she sang, unwrapping it.

  The gown's brilliant color made her pale skin and dark-circled eyes even more noticeable. She looked, indeed, as if her lover Death had already marked her for his own.

  I wondere
d what I could do, but a look at Miss Varish's face assured me that nothing short of a visit from Death himself would keep her from spreading this latest bit of gossip over the whole of the parish.

  The door opened again. Penrose looked around. “Mama?"

  She appeared not to hear him, but went on, staring into the flames and singing. Calmly Penrose nodded to Miss Varish. He cast me a short apologetic look, then crossed the room to his mother. “Mama, come. It's time for our walk."

  Rosamund looked up at him. For a moment she frowned. It was almost as though she had to call a part of herself back from some far distant shore. Then recognition came into her eyes. “Yes, Penrose. I am ready."

  She took the hand he stretched out to her and got to her feet. “I like to walk,” she said. “The sun is warm. The flowers are pretty.” And Penrose and his mother passed from the room.

  I reached for the bellpull. “I'll just order some tea,” I said, striving to recreate some sense of the normal.

  But Miss Varish could not wait for tea. She got hastily to her feet. “No, no, Your Grace. Do not bother. I'll just be on my way."

  Off she hurried, to begin her rounds. I sank back into my chair, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

  Rosamund could not help her affliction, and certainly her entrance had driven all thoughts of me from Miss Varish's mind.

  But I knew it was only temporary. Once she had spread her story about Rosamund, Miss Varish would remember me again. I wished I had been more successful in discovering what she did know, but the vicar's sister had told me little more than I had told her.

  I sighed and rang for Gerson and a pot of tea. I was still sipping my first cup when he came back to say, “Another visitor, Your Grace. The dressmaker. She says it's urgent."

  "Send her in."

  Mrs. Brewster stopped right inside the door, her eyes downcast. “Mayhap I shouldn't have come,” she began, her voice trembling.

  I put on a bright smile. “Mrs. Brewster, do come in and sit down. May I offer you some tea?"

  She looked startled. “No, no, Your Grace. I just came—” She advanced slowly and took the chair I indicated. “I know you can't stop it,” she said, “but I thought you'd want to know about it."