The Last of Lady Lansdown

by Shirley Kennedy

  Jane felt strangely comforted by her grandmother’s words. She would be patient. Perhaps somehow, some way, she and Douglas could work things out ... perhaps.

  * * * *

  Flames from the fireplace in Lord Rennie’s library cast a warm, rosy glow as the lord of the manor sat watching his friend pace the room. “For God’s sake, Cartland, will you stop that! Why the devil are you pacing up and down that way?”

  Douglas muttered an oath and slung himself into one of Rennie’s gilt upholstered chairs. “The minute I finish your canal I shall be off to America.”

  Rennie observed his friend with curious eyes. “It’s the countess, isn’t it?”

  “Of course.” Douglas slumped in his chair, an abject picture of misery and defeat. “It’s over between us. Totally, completely over.”

  “Why? It’s obvious you love the woman.”

  “Must I remind you again of the reason I shall never marry?”

  Rennie thought a moment. “If you will forgive an honest opinion—”

  “Save your breath.” With a weary sigh, Douglas arose and moved to the window, where he gazed moodily out at the rain. “I have lost the only woman I have ever loved or ever shall love, but I’m honor bound to keep my vow.”

  “That’s nonsense. Honor bound to whom?”

  “I am a man of honor even to myself, Rennie.” For a time Douglas continued to gaze silently at the deluge outside. “It’s not good.”

  “You mean all this rain?”

  Douglas returned to his chair. “I mean the chances are, this area is going to be hit with a flood the likes of which we haven’t seen since the fourteenth century.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Are you talking about that twenty-foot wall of water again? The one that wiped out Sudberry and everything else in its path?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I find that hard to believe, but then, you’re the expert on the weather. Tell me how it could happen.”

  Douglas nodded gloomily. “Picture, if you will, that fatal summer back in the fourteenth century. The peasants are tilling the fields. The good citizens of Sudberry are going about their business. They had a soggy summer with abnormal amounts of rain, yet everybody’s totally unaware that a witch’s brew is beginning to develop in the atmosphere.

  “One afternoon, a weak flow of moist air begins to develop on the east side of the canyon northeast of here. The moist air rises up the mountain slopes and combines with daytime heat to form a thunderstorm. The thunderstorm lifts over the walls of the canyon and begins to dump heavy rain at about, say, five or six in the evening. Strong winds blow at higher levels, ordinarily strong enough to push a thunderstorm to the east and out of the area. But on this day, the upper winds are extremely weak, not strong enough to push the storm away. Instead, the storm remains virtually stationary for hours. It dumps a foot of rain into the canyon, onto the already water-soaked ground. I’m only guessing here, but I would think at least eight inches of rain fell in a one-hour-long stretch. It’s enough to turn the normally placid River Hulm into a raging torrent of water, twenty feet high. So, all of a sudden it breaks loose and heads down the canyon and beyond, sweeping ten-foot boulders in front of it, along with everything else in its path. The wall of water moves so quickly there’s no chance for an orderly evacuation. The only avenue of escape is to run like hell for higher ground. Those who are caught have no chance of survival.”

  A low, amazed whistle escaped Rennie’s lips. “So you think it might actually happen again?”

  “There’s a good chance it might.”

  “’Pon my word!” Rennie’s sense of humor returned. “Well, you needn’t worry. With any luck, you will have left for America before that wall of water hits.”

  Douglas’ lips twisted in a cynical smile. “You won’t get rid of me so easily. If we’re going to be hit by that wall of water, it’s going to be soon, very soon. Besides, do you think I would leave now?”

  “When the woman you love is in danger?” Rennie asked. “Of course you wouldn’t. What was I thinking? I can only hope you’re dead wrong.”

  Douglas cast a wary gaze out the window toward the leaden sky. “So do I, but this time I have a feeling I’m dead right.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, in an effort to avoid the Eltons, Jane and her family went down to breakfast early. “We don’t have to be ‘nice’ to them anymore,” Jane commented. “We shall continue to avoid them until we leave.”

  Millicent nodded her head decisively. “That’s fine with me. I cannot abide the way Beatrice keeps accusing you of taking the jewels.”

  Jane answered with a noncommittal “Hmm.” Other than Granny, she had not yet told anyone about finding the Lansdown jewels. She knew she must soon turn them over to her sister-in-law, but the moment would be excruciating—one to be put off as long as possible. She glanced out the window at the pouring rain. “I had hoped we could go to the dower house today and start clearing it out. The sooner we move the better.”

  A series of sighs greeted her in return. Her mother’s were the deepest. Amelia Hart had been wrapped in gloom ever since learning the time had come to move.

  At least Millicent was trying to make the best of it. “What shall we do with the old countess’ stuffed birds?” she asked lightly. “Do you suppose we could sell them?”

  “Maybe we could,” Jane jokingly replied. “Perhaps there’s a huge, untapped market for glass-domed dead birds.”

  Everyone laughed except Mama, who sat dourly sipping her tea, barely touching her food. Jane was searching for something else cheerful to say when Mrs. Stanhope entered the dining room and approached her.

  “May I have a word with you, m’lady?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Stanhope.”

  “It’s about Meg Twimby.” The housekeeper’s brows were drawn together in a worried frown. “The girl did not come to work this morning, and you know how dependable she is. I suspect it’s the river. Last I looked, it was about to break over its banks. When and if it does, the Twimby farm will be right in its path. I was wondering—”

  “I shall go at once.” Jane quickly arose from her chair.

  “Don’t you dare,” said Mama, suddenly alert. She addressed Mrs. Stanhope. “My daughter is no longer in charge here. From now on, you must take your problems to the new Countess of Lansdown.” She regarded Jane with accusing eyes. “Sit down and finish your breakfast. What happens with the servants is no longer any concern of ours.”

  “Meg Twimby is my concern,” Jane sharply replied. “We’ll discuss this later.” She hurried from the room, regretting she’d been abrupt with her mother but knowing she could not have done otherwise. Starting up the stairs, she heard Millicent’s voice behind her.

  “What are you going to do, Jane? You can’t go out in weather like this.”

  “Indeed I can,” Jane called over her shoulder.

  “You will get soaking wet. What will you wear?”

  “Something that I’m tired of.” She raced down the hallway. “My blue riding habit, I guess.” It would probably get ruined, but it reminded her of Douglas, so what did she care?

  Bruta was nowhere in sight when she reached her bedchamber. In fact, Jane hadn’t seen her surly lady’s maid all morning. No matter. By now Bruta had probably gone back to Beatrice. No great loss. Beatrice could have her. “Can you get out the blue riding habit for me, Millicent?”

  She quickly shed her muslin morning gown and slipped into the riding habit, assisted by her sister. “You will need a warm wrap,” Millicent said. She went to the wardrobe and returned with Jane’s brown wool redingote, an elaborate affair adorned with multiple, black-banded caplets.

  Had Jane not been so worried, she might have laughed. “That’s much too fancy for where I’m going. I would ruin it for sure. Can you get me my plain wool shawl?”

  Millicent returned with the shawl, which Jane wrapped around her shoulders and over
her head. It made her look like a peasant, but fashion was not her concern right now.

  “What are you planning?” Millicent asked.

  “I’m going to fetch Beauty and ride her over to the Twimby farm. I want to make sure Meg and her family are all right, but I suspect they are not. The very fact that Meg didn’t come to work today tells me there’s something wrong.”

  Millicent frowned with concern. “You should not be out on a day like this.”

  “Who else can help them? I can’t ask the servants, and do you think our esteemed new earl would care? Ha! I think not.”

  “I suppose you’re right. The day is young, but I would wager James is foxed already.”

  “So would I, and I doubt in his condition he could even find the river, let alone cross it.” Jane pulled the shawl tight around her and headed for the door. “Meg is my friend. It’s up to me to make sure she and her family are all right.”

  “But what about Douglas Cartland?” Millicent called after her. “Can’t he help? Didn’t you tell me he’s a friend of the Twimbys?”

  “Forget him.” Jane felt a stab at her heart at the very mention of his name.

  The hard rain had let up for the moment. Only a light drizzle was falling when Jane hurried outside and down the path to the river. At the spot where the path curved toward the stables, she got her first close look at the River Hulm. It was over its banks! Not on her side but on the other side. The water was slowly spreading over the fields of the Twimby farm. No question, the Twimbys must leave, if they hadn’t already. And how could Meg manage with one little girl and two young boys, one of whom was sick?

  She had almost reached the burnt-out stables when she encountered Timothy and young Hugh. They were leading a string of horses, including Beauty, up the path. “The river’s started to overflow,” Timothy called in agitation. “I’m taking the horses back up to Lord Rennie’s.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she called back. “I’ll take Beauty.” She untied her horse from the line and turned her in the other direction.

  “Where are you going, m’lady?” Timothy asked in alarm.

  “To the Twimby farm to see how they’re doing.” She would have to ride bareback. Grasping Beauty’s harness, she stuck out her foot. “Can you give me a boost?”

  Shaking his head with disapproval, Timothy went to her side. “You can’t, m’lady, the river’s dangerous and it’s going to get worse. You should not—”

  “I know I should not, but I’m going to. Please hand me up.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “All right then, but I still don’t think ...” Timothy bent forward. She placed a booted foot in his cradled hands. He lifted her to Beauty’s back, where she proceeded to sling a leg to the other side. She had never ridden astride before, no saddle or reins either, but she could do it because she had to.

  The stableman gazed up at her. “Are you sure you can manage?”

  “Positive. Thank you, Timothy. I shall return shortly.” She dug her heels into Beauty’s flank and off they went along the path, heading toward the wooden bridge upstream. Along the way she noticed another break in the far river bank, worse than the first. With both, the water wasn’t gushing through; instead, the flood most closely resembled a silent invasion into the countryside, the water spreading slowly over the fields. When she reached the bridge, she saw firsthand what Timothy meant by “dangerous.” The swift flowing current cleared the bottom of the structure by mere inches. Caught in the flow, logs, branches and other debris either raced by or piled against the structure’s upper side. As she watched, a large-sized log slammed against the bridge with a noise so shattering Beauty shied away, neighing her fright. When Jane got the jittery animal under control again, she patted her withers and called, “Settle down, girl, let us across.” Beauty would not budge. Damnation! She would never get to the Twimbys unless she dismounted and walked her frightened horse over the bridge.

  She slid from Beauty’s back. Holding the lead, she led the animal to the edge of the bridge and examined the wooden planks on which they would cross. Although wet, they seemed sturdy enough, despite the rising water. Surely it couldn’t get much higher. She stepped onto the planks and tugged on Beauty’s lead. “Come on, it’s only a short way across. You’ve got to make it.”

  After a couple of false starts, Beauty obliged, although Jane could tell from her widened eyes she was close to panic. Reaching the other side, Jane saw the Twimby cottage in the distance. The sight of it urged her on. The flood had spread a relentless course toward the Twimbys’ front door. It was shallow and not yet flowing hard, but a frightening sight, nonetheless. If she hurried, she could skirt around it, get to the Twimbys and offer what assistance she could.

  She continued on, leading a reluctant Beauty across a muddy field. Thank heaven, the rain still held off except for a slight drizzle, but the chill in the air made her wish she had chosen the redingote Millicent offered instead of the light wool shawl.

  Jane and the creeping water reached the Twimby cottage at about the same time. She entered the muddy yard, now filling with water. Poor Jupiter stood in the lean-to at the side of the house, head down, looking miserable. She pounded on the front door. “Meg, Meg! Are you there? Let me in.”

  Meg swung open the door. “Countess!” Relief swept over her haggard face. She clutched Jane’s arm. “Please come in; I need your help.”

  Jane stepped inside to the sound of little Molly’s frightened wailing. Jonathan, the twelve year old, was stacking the family’s meager belongings upon the table. In a corner of the room, Matthew, the seven-year-old, lay upon a straw mattress—listless, pale and drawn.

  Meg knelt beside him and tenderly rested a hand on his forehead. “He cannot be moved,” she said, desperation in her voice. “He’s still too sick and weak from the flu.”

  Jonathan called, “The water’s in the yard. It’s almost to the door.”

  Jane took one look and knew what they must do. “We cannot stay here. We have got to get across the river.”

  “How can we?” Meg asked. “Matthew is too weak to walk.”

  Jane thought fast. “Jupiter is outside, isn’t he?” Meg nodded. “Then we shall put Matthew on Jupiter. He’s strong enough to hang on, isn’t he?” Meg nodded again. “Well, then, we won’t have a problem at all.” Jane went on in her most reassuring tone. “Jonathan can walk. You and Molly shall ride Beauty, and I shall walk beside you and guide the horses. When we get across the river, we shall all go to Chatfield Court to wait for the flood to subside.”

  I don’t think Mrs. Elton will let us in.” Meg’s voice sounded doubtful.

  “You let me worry about that.” Jane spoke more confidently than she felt. Who knew what that mean-spirited woman might do?

  A trickle of water seeped under the door. Jane scooped Molly into her arms and handed her to Meg. “You take Molly. I’ll get Matthew. Hurry, there’s no time to lose.”

  Jane hurried to Matthew’s bed, where he lay lethargic on the mattress, covered by one thin blanket. She knelt beside him. “We must leave,” she said gently. “If we put you on Jupiter, do you think you can hold on?”

  The boy managed a wan smile. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll try.”

  Jane wrapped the blanket around him. He was not much of a burden as she lifted him in her arms. How light he was, not much more than skin and bones. She carried him outside, where she discovered Jonathan had saddled Jupiter and brought the animal around. Between the two of them, they lifted Matthew into the saddle. The pale-faced boy swayed but managed to hang on. “We must hurry,” Jane exclaimed, glancing at the several inches of water that now covered the ground.

  Meg appeared, Molly in her arms. “I’ll walk, m’lady. You ride Beauty.”

  This was no time for politeness. “Nonsense, Meg. Don’t argue. Just get on the horse and I will hand Molly up to you.”

  Meg did as she was told. The bedraggled procession that left the farmyard formed a dism
aying picture, to say the least—a small, sick boy clinging to the back of a swayback horse, Meg atop Beauty, holding tight to her little sister for dear life, Jane and Jonathan walking alongside the horses, slogging through the slowly rising water.

  Jane anticipated the bridge with trepidation, recalling the swift current and the debris piled against the upstream side. Was it still safe? How much time did they have before the rising water completely cut them off? “We shall head straight across the fields to the bridge. We must hurry. The sooner we get across, the better.”

  Halfway there, they were slogging through the flood water when a light rain began to fall. “Do you think we’ll make it?” Meg called in a worried voice from atop Beauty. She had brought along a blanket for Molly and wrapped it more tightly around the child.

  “Of course we will,” Jane replied, but she wasn’t so sure. She shivered, getting wetter by the minute, longing for the warmth and comfort of her bedchamber at Chatfield Court.

  They reached the bridge. It was still standing, although even more debris had piled against it and the current had risen even higher. Now a thin layer of water flowed over the wooden planks. The bridge shuddered as a large log smashed against it. “We must hurry,” she called. “Beauty, don’t you dare stop,” she whispered to her horse. “You, too, Jupiter.” Her heart went out to Matthew, who sat shivering, utterly miserable, atop the old horse. “Hang on, Matthew. It isn’t much farther. We’ll get there soon.” Walking between the two horses, she grasped both leads. Would the horses come willingly? Perhaps being together made a difference because, without a whinny of protest, they moved forward and started across.

  When the little procession, all of them wet and bedraggled, reached the middle of the bridge, Jane saw two figures in the distance on the other side. Soon she made out two men on horseback riding at a fast clip toward the bridge ... could they be Douglas and Lord Rennie? Yes! It had to be them. Thank goodness. She needed all the help she could get right now.