The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  "Know what?” I inquired, wishing that I had stayed abed. Whatever this was, it could not be good.

  "It's that Miss Varish.” The dressmaker stiffened in indignation. “Thinks she's God Himself, she does, giving orders right and left."

  It was plain that my earlier suspicions were accurate. Miss Varish and Mrs. Brewster had been foes long before I arrived in Cornwall.

  "She can be a little overbearing,” I agreed. “What has she done now?"

  Mrs. Brewster flushed and looked around as though she feared someone would hear her. “It's an embarrassing thing to recount, Your Grace."

  I nodded. “I quite understand, but I assure you, it is all right. Just go ahead and tell me."

  The dressmaker took a deep breath. “Well, Your Grace, she was around this morning, before decent folk were even out of their beds, telling everyone how your husband found you on the beach after midnight, wearing naught but a nightdress. And how he dragged you home in disgrace, you being worse than—"

  She faltered and flushed scarlet. “These are her words, you mind. Worse than that sister of yours.” She gazed down at the floor again, afraid, no doubt, to look at me.

  So that was it. I made my voice firm, courteous. “Thank you, Mrs. Brewster, for coming here to tell me. That took courage."

  She looked up quickly, almost startled by my gratitude. Perhaps she had thought to feel my anger, but I could not blame the messenger for the bad news she carried. “The story is not true,” I said.

  "Indeed, Your Grace, I knew it couldn't be.” She drew herself up. “I know a lady when I see one, and you're a lady, right enough. Besides—” she smiled—"I saw the way you treat the little one. The way she loves you.” She shook her head. “You're not the sort to go sneaking out in the middle of the night. I'd never believe such a thing of you."

  I kept my face calm, but my mind whirled. This information put things in a very different perspective. If I told Mrs. Brewster the truth, she would see that it spread. Undoubtedly many would prefer Miss Varish's version, but some, perhaps, might have second thoughts. Perhaps the story of an abductor would make people think twice before accusing Richard of Caroline's death.

  Richard had not wanted anyone to know, but that was to keep people from talking about us. Since they were already talking, and passing on lies, surely my telling the true story could do no harm.

  Mrs. Brewster got to her feet. “I'll be going now,” she said, obviously still troubled. “I just had to do what I could."

  It was her actions that helped me make my decision. She had not poked or pried, or asked for any information. She had come only to help me. “Mrs. Brewster?"

  "Yes, Your Grace?"

  "Sit down again. Please. I have something to tell you. But only if you promise to repeat it to everyone you can."

  Half an hour later she was on her way, and feeling quite satisfied with myself, I went off to the nursery to play with Sarah.

  We had admired our matching gowns, chosen the day before, and were arranging the doll's hair in a style like Sarah's when the door flew open with a bang. I got quickly to my feet and turned to face my husband. Richard's face was livid.

  "Why,” he cried, quite ignoring the child who crept behind my skirts. “Why have you disobeyed my wishes?"

  Sarah gave a little whimper. I knew how she must feel. Richard was a frightening sight, especially to a little one.

  "One moment, Richard.” I took Sarah by the hand and led her to the other room where Creighton had been dozing. “You stay here,” I told the child. “I will be back later."Sarah clutched at my skirt. “Don't go, Nessie,” she begged. “He'll hurt you. Please!"

  Carefully I pried her fingers loose. “Now, Sarah, don't be silly. Your father is upset over something. That's all."

  She shook her head, and tears welled in her eyes. “He yelled at my mama. And she's gone."

  I heard Creighton's quick intake of breath, but I had no time for this. “Sarah,” I said firmly, “that will be enough. I am going to see what your father wants. I'll be back later."

  Leaving her weeping in the nurse's arms, I marched out, past Richard and into the hall. My husband followed me.

  "Vanessa,” he began.

  I kept walking. “I should prefer to have this discussion in the privacy of our room,” I said. “Here, even the walls have ears."

  He kept his silence till the door of my room closed behind him. “Now,” he thundered, “I wish to know why you went against my express wishes."

  I turned to face him. If this was one of his rages, it was indeed frightening, but I refused to be cowed by him. After all, I had faced Papa. “First,” I said. “I was not the one who spread the story. Cressadine Varish was here this afternoon."

  He cursed, and one part of my mind noted with pleasure his inventiveness.

  "So you told her everything!"

  "Indeed, I did not!” I sighed and looked at him mournfully. “Really, Richard. How foolish do you think I am?"

  He looked a little sheepish, as though he was beginning to regret his outburst. “Then what did you tell her?"

  I sighed again. “I told her nothing. And I was still telling her nothing when Rosamund came wandering in, wearing her orange ball gown and singing one of her gongs about Death."

  Richard frowned.

  "After that,” I continued, “Miss Varish left. Rather hurriedly."

  Richard looked puzzled. “But the particulars are all over the parish."

  "Which story did you hear?” I asked. “Was it the true one or the one where you discovered me on the beach with my lover and dragged me home in disgrace?"

  If I had thought his previous curse inventive, I found this one even more so. At another time I might have congratulated him on it.

  When he had finished, he crossed the room to take me in his arms. “Tell me who is spreading this slander. I will see him silenced.” He scowled. “Or run through with my sword."

  I laughed. I could not help it. The image of Miss Varish, wearing one of her flowered bonnets and dangling from Richard's sword, struck me as amusing. “You cannot do that,” I said, reminding myself that this was serious business. “You cannot run the vicar's sister through. It just isn't done."

  His expression lightened a little. “You're right, of course. But are you sure it was she?"

  "Indeed. After Miss Varish left, having learned nothing except what her eyes told her about Rosamund, I had still another caller."

  Richard shook his head. “I cannot begin to guess who it was."

  "It was the dressmaker. She came to warn me of the story Miss Varish was circulating.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Since a story was already about, I thought it best to tell Mrs. Brewster the true one. I specifically asked her to spread it far and wide."

  Richard frowned and I held my breath. Had I mistaken my husband?

  "I see your reasoning,” he said finally.

  Slowly I released my breath. Then I kissed his cheek. “I was confident you would. Else I would not have gone against my promise to you."

  "Yes.” He gathered me closer. “Nessie, my dear wife—"

  The door flew open. Sarah rushed in, her arms flailing, and began kicking and screaming at her father. “Stop! Stop! Don't hurt Nessie."

  Richard could not have looked more surprised had he actually seen a ghost. I stepped between the two of them and took the weeping child in my arms. “Sarah, my dear, I am quite all right.” I wiped at her tears. “Look now. See? I am fine."

  Slowly her sobs eased. She touched my cheek as though to reassure herself. “He didn't hurt you?"

  "Of course not, my dear. Your father would not hurt me."

  She sniffled. “Nessie, are you sure?"

  Richard came to us then and lifted the child out of my arms. “Sarah, Sarah,” he said sadly. “I would not hurt Vanessa. You must know that."

  She looked long into his eyes, then she managed a watery smile. “Yes, Father, I know. But I was afraid."

  He gave
her a questioning smile. “Are you afraid now?"

  "No, Dada.” The childish word took them both by surprise. For a moment there was an awful silence. Richard's frown returned, and Sarah looked as though she would weep again. “I am sorry, Father,” she mumbled.

  He nodded and set her down. “Run along now. You've seen that your precious Nessie is safe."

  Sarah looked at me, and I nodded and motioned her out. “Go back to the nursery,” I said. “Creighton will be looking for you."

  "Yes, Nessie."

  I watched her go, and then I turned to my husband. “Thank you, Richard."

  He frowned again. “For what?"

  "For reassuring the child. Hers has been a difficult existence. We are all that she has, you know."

  "Then,” said Richard, his frown returning full force, “God pity the child."

  His words could not reach me for I had seen the look in his eyes, and I was sure. Richard loved his daughter. I had only to make him admit it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Though I studied the matter day and night, I was unable to think of a way to bring Richard and his daughter together. He still refused to visit the nursery, and I did not like to bring the child to the table where she was exposed to the dowager's sharp tongue and Rosamund's distressing songs. But I did not give up. I simply bided my time.

  The magistrate came to call. He discussed the events of that strange night with Richard, spoke a few words to me, and left. The talk in the village died down—or so Richard informed me—and I began to hope that people had found something else to speculate about. Our life went on.

  True to his promise, Richard did not leave me alone again at night. Every morning we rode together, and every night we spent in my bed. Soon, I promised myself as I woke each morning, soon I could tell Richard there would be a child.

  The rest of the family did not change. The dowager still cut at me at every opportunity, and Rosamund still drifted around the castle, her brightly colored gowns making her look even more pale and wan.

  Penrose and I tried to get her outside, to walk, but more and more she seemed not to hear us. One day after a particularly futile attempt to get her to walk with us, Penrose motioned to me to follow him. We crossed to the other side of the room. Tears stood in the boy's eyes. “I'm losing her,” he said, his voice thick. “She is slipping away from me."

  "Oh, Penrose, I am so sorry.” I longed to take the poor boy in my arms and comfort him as I would have Sarah, but I knew I dared not. He was a man now, and he must behave as one.

  "Don't say it's for the best.” He glared at me through his tears.

  My surprise was genuine. “Of course I won't. I should never say such a thing."

  He swallowed. “Grandmother does."

  I put my hand upon his arm. It trembled with his emotion. “Penrose, I will tell you what I told Sarah. Your grandmother is ill."

  He pulled away, plainly unbelieving.

  "It's true. Not in the same way as your mother.” I sighed. “In a way your grandmother's illness is worse."

  "What are you talking about?"

  I hoped he would believe me. This had helped Sarah. Perhaps it would help him. “Your grandmother is unable to love. Just as my sister was unable to love."

  Penrose eyed me suspiciously. “I have never heard of such an illness."

  I shrugged. “Perhaps not. But you have seen the evidence of it. You've been living with it all your life."

  He frowned. “But Grandmother loves Uncle Roland."

  I should have known that was coming. Perhaps I did, for my answer sprang to my lips. “Does she? Really? Is it love to cut your child off from his brothers and sisters? To smother him?"

  Slowly Penrose lost his frown. “I think you are right about Grandmother,” he said finally. “But my mother is fading, and I still cannot help her.” The boy's face held such pain.

  "I know. That hurts a great deal. I hurt, too,” I said, “because I cannot bring Sarah and her father together. Because I love them both."

  Penrose nodded. He looked into my eyes. “Vanessa, I—I—"

  "What is it?"

  "When you first came here, I—I hated you."

  This did not surprise me, but I asked, “Why? You did not even know me."

  The boy's eyes were clouded with regret. “Your sister—she was so nasty to my mother. I thought you would be like her, saying mean and vicious things."

  I smiled at him. “I'm glad you've found out that I am not."

  He nodded. “Vanessa?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry."

  "That's all right. I've forgotten whatever you said."

  His gaze faltered. “No, I didn't mean that."

  "Then what?"

  "When you first came, I put—I put a dead bird outside your door. I'm sorry for that. Will you forgive me?” The boy looked so stricken.

  "Of course,” I said. Then an idea came to me. “Did you dress in white or speak to me through the door?"

  He paled so that I thought he might sink to the floor. “God, Vanessa, no! Did someone do that?"

  Belatedly I cursed my penchant for speaking before I thought. I tried to smooth things over. “Yes, but don't worry about it. It must have been a joke."

  He frowned. “Do you think—might it have been Mama?"

  I stared at him. “I don't know. Do you think it might?"

  He sighed and tugged at a lock of hair. “Mama does strange things, especially when the moon is full."

  I thought of the person who had abducted me. Rosamund was too frail to have lifted me onto a horse, but the ghost and the abductor need not be the same—or even connected. Perhaps more than one person wanted me out of Greyden Castle.

  I would think about that later. Now the boy looked so distraught I had to help him. “It couldn't have been Rosamund,” I said. “Richard was with her."

  "That doesn't mean she couldn't have done it,” Penrose said. “She often slips away from us."

  "Well,” I replied, and I never meant words more, “I don't believe it was she."

  Penrose studied his coat sleeve. Then he raised his eyes to mine. “Thank you,” he said. “For trying to help her. I shall never forget it."

  Before I could say more he was gone. It was only then that I thought to wonder and to wish that I had asked him if he believed the crying babe to be a real ghost.

  Just as I turned to follow him, Sarah came in, her eyes shining. She waved her hand, a cloud of color fluttered through the air. “Look, Nessie! Ribbons! Lots and lots of ribbons!"

  I crossed the room and stooped to admire them. “They're beautiful. So many different colors."

  "To match each of our gowns.” Sarah was so excited that she danced about.

  "Where did you get all these lovely ribbons?"

  "Uncle Roland brought them. Isn't it wonderful?"

  I swallowed my disappointment. I knew Richard would not bring the child such a gift. I knew he still wanted nothing to do with her, and yet in that first instant, I had not been able to keep from hoping.

  "Yes, indeed,” I said. I looked up.

  Roland was standing in the doorway, his face wreathed in a smile. He came into the room, still smiling. “It's good to see the child so happy.” He sighed and his smile faded. “If only Richard—"

  I nodded and straightened. “I know. It pains me, too. But we must hope. And pray."

  Roland's eyes clouded. “Pray? I don't think prayer will help Richard."

  I felt a stab of foreboding. Roland looked so strange. Could his mind be going, too? “Whatever do you mean?"

  For a second he stared at me, then his face cleared. “Oh, nothing, Vanessa. Nothing."

  I could not let it pass. Sarah was engrossed in plaiting her ribbons. She paid no regard to us.

  "Were you thinking of his rages?” I asked. I didn't know why I should ask such a question. Richard's rages seemed to be a thing of the past. At least, I had never fully experienced one.

  "No,” Roland said.
“Actually—” He paused and looked embarrassed. “There are still some people, Richard's enemies, who are spreading talk. This tale of abduction—"

  So Roland had heard it, too. Mrs. Brewster had done her work well.

  "It was not a tale,” I said. “It was the truth."

  He looked upset, as though I had insulted him in some way. “Of course it was. But, Vanessa, why should someone do such a thing?"

  I glanced at the child and lowered my voice. “I do not know. Except—I think perhaps it was Caroline's lover."

  His eyes widened. “Her lover?"

  I nodded. “I think she was meeting a servant in the North Tower."

  He looked astonished. “A servant?"

  Now that I knew him better, I could say to him what I had not dared to say before. “Yes,” I whispered. “Caroline was not over nice in such matters."

  A wave of revulsion swept over his features. I hurried on. “I think this servant believes I know something—something that might implicate him."

  "And do you?"

  "Of course not. Caroline never confided in me. She did not even like me."

  Roland nodded. “I suspect she liked few women. She seemed to prefer the company of men."

  A suspicion struck me. Why had I never thought of it before? “Did Caroline—” I could not go on. It was too embarrassing.

  Roland caught the import of my question. “Yes,” he said sadly. “She approached me.” He shuddered. “Of course I said no. My own brother's wife—besides"—his smile warmed me—"she was not like you, Nessie. She was cold and selfish. Such a woman can only give a man pain. As she did Richard."

  I nodded. It was a relief to know that at least Richard did not have this cause for enmity toward his twin.

  "Vanessa?"

  "Yes, Roland?” There was a curious look on his face, one I did not like.

  "There is something—I have been wanting to tell you—I feel—"

  Then Sarah ran into his arms. “Oh, Uncle Roland,” she cried. “These are the prettiest ribbons in the whole world!"

  He smiled at her. “I'm glad you like them.” He stroked her long blond curls. “Why don't you go now and show them to your nurse?"

  Sarah laughed. How rarely had I heard the child laugh. “Yes, Uncle. She will be happy. She likes pretty things.” Sarah looked at me. “Are you coming, Nessie?"