by Sandra Heath
“What can I say?” she whispered.
He smiled, touching her dark hair softly. “It was good to come back here and find you waiting for me. You know, do you not, that I—”
She looked beyond him, startled by the sight of a large traveling carriage swaying through the open gates and into the courtyard outside. “Look.” She went to the window and saw the carriage lurch to a standstill. The footmen hurriedly clambered down and opened the door, lowering the folding steps.
From inside came a tall, angular woman, dressed entirely in unrelieved black. She stared for a moment at the house and then climbed down and stood on the ground, brushing her heavy skirts. Even through the windows Sarah could hear her booming voice as she ordered the footmen hither and thither. Like an enormous black crow she swept up the steps toward the door of the house, and out of Sarah’s sight.
“Who is she?”
“That is my Aunt Mathilda.”
Sarah’s heart fell. What a terrible woman she looked. Paul smiled and put his arm around her shoulders.
Mathilda stood suddenly in the doorway, her sharp eyes on Paul’s arm. “It seems high time that I arrived here, high time indeed!”
He moved away quickly. “Aunt Mathilda, why did you not send word that you were coming?”
“Sending word to you seems to have little effect, Paul. I didn’t think it necessary.”
“What do you mean by that?” Paul went to her and kissed her cheek, but she moved away as if angry. He looked surprised, but did not pursue the matter. “You are too late for the funeral, you know that?” he said gently.
“I know, I know. Can’t abide funerals. Never could and never will. Especially—” She drew herself together and sniffed. “Well, my nephew, what has been going on here, eh? Your letter concerning Miss Stratford told me vague outlines, but no more.”
Wearily he raised his hand. “Aunt, please, not right now. I’ll tell you when I’ve had a good rest and a wash.”
“When you’ve had a good rest? I’ve been traveling for two days!”
“Aunt Mathilda, look at me. Do I normally spend my time looking in such a state? Things have been happening here, far too many of them to explain now. Please bear with me for a while longer, and I’ll tell you everything.” He took Sarah’s hand and led her forward. “Sarah, this is my Aunt Mathilda. Aunt, this is Miss Stratford.”
Mathilda raised a silver lorgnette and surveyed Sarah, raising an eyebrow as she saw the smoky marks Paul had left when he embraced her. Her foot tapped with displeasure. “Paul, I don’t know what it is that you do, but the women who come into contact with you seem to be sadly lacking in any sense of propriety. First Melissa, and now Miss Stratford.”
She lowered the lorgnette. “Very well. I see that I must wait to be told anything. Have you bothered to have rooms prepared for me?”
“Yes, Aunt. Melissa’s rooms have been prepared for you.”
“I will go to them now. Miss Stratford, please be so good as to come with me. It is not seemly for a young lady to be wearing only a night robe at this hour of the morning, and moreover to be alone with my nephew in such a state of undress.”
“Undress!’’ Sarah felt a flush of anger sweep through her.
Paul touched her arm, smiling. “Go with her, Sarah. Don’t bother to argue, for it is a fruitless labor with my aunt.”
“What did you say, Paul?” Mathilda leaned forward but did not catch his words.
“I said that she should go with you, Aunt.”
Mathilda’s black skirts rustled as she swept from the room, and, with a sinking heart, Sarah followed.
Mathilda went into Sarah’s rooms and stood waiting. “Now then, Miss Stratford, I can see that I have much to do. I am somewhat disturbed to find you like this. My nephew should know better. But still, no doubt all is not lost, and I can salvage something of your reputation.”
“My reputation? There’s nothing wrong with my reputation!” Sarah felt the anger returning. What on earth did the woman think had been going on here?
Mathilda ignored the protests. “Where is your maid?”
Janie crept into the room, having quickly changed into a clean apron after her encounter with Martin. She had met Mathilda before. “Yes, Mrs. Ransome?”
“Ah, yes—Janie, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ransome.”
“Well, Janie, your mistress must be dressed. And please, see that the gown you choose is, er, demure. I don’t like these modern fashions which reveal everything and leave nothing to the imagination. My nephew’s imagination was always more than active anyway.”
Janie blinked and looked at Sarah, whose stormy face was a sight to see. “Yes, Mrs. Ransome.”
Sarah said nothing. Mathilda obviously had it into her head that there was something going on between her and Paul, and instinct told her that Mathilda’s mind, once made up, could not be easily changed.
Eventually a gown was selected, but not before Mathilda had tutted with disapproval over the array of costly creations hanging in the wardrobe. “Miss Stratford, I would wish to write to your father about your clothing. It is hardly suitable for a well-brought-up young lady. You have a father still living, I understand.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ransome. Sir Peter Stratford.”
“Oh, you’re that Miss Stratford.” The lorgnette was produced again and Mathilda perused her charge with fresh interest.
Paul’s footsteps were heard outside the door and he knocked. Sarah opened her mouth to speak but Mathilda was first. “Come in, Paul.”
“Aunt Mathilda, I just came to say that I’m going to my rooms to rest. Forgive my sad lack of manners, but unless I sleep I shall be unbearably rude to someone.” His warm brown eyes rested on Sarah, taking in the gown which his aunt had decided was “suitable.”
“You should rest too, Sarah, for I doubt if you slept last night either. Oh, by the way—” He held out a crumpled letter. “This has just arrived from Holland by messenger. He’s finished his business with the French horses in Plymouth and will be back here sometime tomorrow.” He gave her the letter and then closed the door again. They heard him walk heavily along the passage toward his own rooms.
Mathilda was looking at the letter with interest, but did not comment on it.
“Well, Miss Stratford, I too shall go to rest. You and I will have much to do shortly before you’ll be fit to—” She did not know quite how to finish her sentence and so instead went to the doorway, drawing herself up with a deep breath. “I cannot imagine what your father was thinking of, child, sending you down here unattended.”
“I was not without a chaperone. Melissa was here.”
“Ah, yes. Melissa.” Mathilda lowered her eyes and for a moment Sarah thought she could see tears shining in them, but then Mathilda sniffed and looked at Sarah. “I’ll see you when we dine, Miss Stratford.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ransome.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The following day Sarah took refuge from Mathilda in the kitchen garden. With a heavy volume of Shakespeare under her arm she slipped from the house and went to her favorite place beneath the poplar tree.
As she sat down she closed her eyes. She had not slept well, her dreams being disturbing, restless, and worrying. Ralph’s handsome, false face had peered at her from the dark night, and she had heard Betty’s terrified screams as Hob’s Brook swept her away.
A coffin adorned with a huge white wreath had stood in a dark, musty church, and beside it lay the battered body of Kitty. High on the moor, in a deep green pool, Melissa’s hand beckoned through the long night. In her dreams Sarah had been dressed in white, a wedding gown ... and standing by the coffin, and Kitty’s black-and-white body, was her bridegroom.
Edward’s painted face had been smiling as he waited for her, and there was blood on his hand as he held it out toward her. With a cry Sarah had woken, her whole body damp with perspiration and her heart thundering in her breast. The dream fled with her awakening, but she knew that it hovered
outside the window, waiting eagerly for the return of sleep when she would be powerless to resist.
Sarah opened the book, sighing at the fanciful thoughts of nighttime which seemed so ridiculous in the brightness of the day. From the house she could hear Mathilda’s voice calling her name, and she sat further back in the shadows beneath the tree. Paul’s aunt had swooped upon her new charge like some great vulture—dominating, correcting, and disciplining until all Sarah could think of was escape. Only the fact that Mathilda obviously had good intentions kept Sarah silent, and as yet respectful, but how much longer she could behave so meekly was a matter of conjecture.
After breakfast Paul had taken his aunt into his study and there had told her all about Melissa—all, that is, except the witchcraft. It was then, just before Paul had ridden to Bencombe to see if there was anything further he could do there, that Sarah had slipped out of the house and into the sanctuary of the garden. And here I shall remain, she thought firmly. Anyway, Jack will be back today....
The sun was already hot. The moor was shimmering in the haze and in the purple distance Hob’s Tor seemed to hover as if free of the earth. The heat was so great that the rocks on its summit looked almost liquid. The heavy leaves of the poplar tree hung limp in the still air, and in the courtyard the ash was silent. The lilac tree sent its perfume through the air to blend with the scent of the herbs in the garden. The day was sweet.
Sarah stared at the pages of the book. Her eyes did not see the words for she was thinking of her future. She must think, for she could not stand quietly by and let events overtake her. What would happen to her if she made no firm decision for herself? She sighed. She would marry Edward, that was what would happen, and knowing what she now did, she realized that such a marriage was unthinkable.
Only one course was desirable and that was to be with Jack. But if she could not be with him ... what then? For a long while she sat there, deep in thought, and then she said aloud, “I’ll have to go back to Longwicke, and Squire Eldon.” It was so simple. She smiled ruefully, remembering how afraid she had been of going back to her home village, afraid of what her eventual life would be.
But now everything was different. She was no longer so desperate to gain a portion of her father’s wealth, no longer hurt by his unfeeling behavior, and no longer prepared to do his bidding in the matter of her marriage. Too much had happened, and she had grown up a lot in the past few months. She hoped above everything else that she could marry Jack, but if not, then Longwicke it was; Longwicke and the odious Squire who had long lusted after her. She closed the book with a thud, surprised at the relative ease with which she had come to her momentous decision.
Mathilda’s voice floated over the wall from the courtyard as she asked Martin if he had seen Miss Stratford anywhere. Sarah sat quietly where she was, hoping that Mathilda would go searching in the opposite direction.
Carefully she put down the book on the limp, lifeless grass, and then leaned back again against the tree. From the kitchen came the sounds of the cook’s angry quarreling with a maid, and the maid’s tearful replies. The weather was so humid that it frayed the most even of tempers. The maid dissolved into floods of tears and Marks’s voice suddenly entered the quarrel. He shouted at the cook, and at the maid, he commanded the scullery boy to do his tasks, and then he slammed a door. Silence reigned in the kitchen. Sarah smiled, picturing the normally quiet Marks in such a mood that he was prepared to raise his voice.
Footsteps pattered along the path and stopped, and then skirts rustled across the grass. “Ah, there you are, Miss Stratford.”
“Did you wish to see me, Mrs. Ransome?”
“Seeing you is what I am here for, isn’t it?” Stiffly, Mathilda sat down beside her. “Now then, what’s this?” She glanced at the book on the grass. “Shakespeare? Is that not rather heavy reading for a young lady? A romantic novel would seem to me to be more suitable.”
“I like Shakespeare.” Sarah felt stubborn and on the verge of mutiny.
Mathilda smiled unexpectedly, and the smile changed her stern face into one which was really quite charming. “Do not think that I’m trying to find fault with everything, my dear. It’s just my way, I fear. I’m inclined to distrust every young girl since Melissa betrayed my confidence. It shook me so much. I had always loved and trusted my niece, and then to find out all that had been going on.” She shook her head sadly.
The older woman looked at Sarah. “Paul told me this morning how she died. Foolish wench, to meet a man, alone, on the moors like that. It was surely asking for trouble—but not the loss of her silly little life. She had so much to look forward to. There were few girls to match her for beauty and she could be so charming, although Paul tells me that she was anything but charming where you were concerned, my dear. London would have been at her feet, but she threw herself away on that worthless man.” Mathilda seemed puzzled. “Paul tells me he thinks the man she was meeting was a cousin of yours—Mr. Edward Stratford.”
“Yes, that’s what we think, and it does seem likely from all the evidence.”
“I cannot understand it, for he is not the gentleman I’d expect to hear mentioned. I was with Melissa when she met your cousin for the first time, and I must say that he made a most unfavorable impression, both on myself and on Melissa. She said afterwards what a dreadful young man he was, I beg your pardon, Miss Stratford. He is your kin, I realize, but really—what an oaf he is! I can scarcely imagine he has the wit to find his way to Mannerby, let alone do all the other things you credit him with. I saw him only last week with the Duke of Annamore and his daughter, Harriet, and my opinion of him was in no way improved, for he’s still a loudmouthed nincompoop. I was taken aback at seeing old Annamore with him; that old tyrant cannot normally abide the young men of today. I’ll warrant your cousin kept silent about his unfortunate discharge from the Army.”
Mathilda looked away, thinking of her niece. “I still cannot believe that Melissa was in love with him—unless her interest was purely in his wealth, which God forgive me for saying as she is dead, poor mite, and cannot defend herself.” Sniffing a little, Mathilda wiped a tear from her eye; she had been very fond of her niece, and deeply hurt by what she had done.
Sarah sat quietly, thinking that indeed it did seem ridiculous when one thought closely about Edward. Nevertheless, he had come to Mannerby, he had been meeting Melissa, and seemingly he had killed her.
Mathilda patted her hand in a friendly way. “Now, my dear, I feel that we understand each other a little better. At least I hope we do. There is much to do, for now that I know exactly who you are I realize that my duties toward you are more extensive than I at first thought. With your, er, background, and the position you’ll be expected to occupy in Society, you will be under close scrutiny from many directions. Each and every person who looks at you will be waiting and watching for you to make a slip.... I would like to help you all I can, so that we can thwart those unkind souls who’ll be only too delighted to see you flounder.”
Sarah nodded, remembering that just that type of unkind soul had flourished in her father’s house party at Rook House. “My father has already engaged someone to see to my education in that field, Mrs. Ransome.”
“But we can make a start, for I understand you don’t know yet when you will be going back to Rook House.”
“That is right. My father hasn’t been in touch with me at all.” Sarah looked away, not because she was hurt but because she did not wish to see the look of pity in Mathilda’s eyes.
“Come inside with me, my dear, and we’ll make a beginning of your education.” Mathilda stood.
As they walked across the grass toward the courtyard, Mathilda spoke again. “I understand there is another guest here.”
“Yes. Mr. Holland.”
“Hmm. Paul tells me he’s the same Mr. Holland who is so friendly with the Prince Regent.”
“Yes.” Sarah knew that she was blushing.
“Rather an exalted gentleman to while away
his precious days down here at Mannerby! I cannot imagine that he can spare the time, unless—” Mathilda stopped and looked closely at Sarah. “Has Mr. Holland any special reason for coming here, Miss Stratford?”
Sarah’s face was flaming.
Mathilda walked on. “I thought yesterday that you and my nephew were, shall we say, happy in each other’s company. Now I’m not so sure that I have the story correct. Who are you in love with, Miss Stratford, my nephew or Mr. Holland?”
Sarah stopped in the shade of the ash tree. “Mrs. Ransome, I’m very much in love with Mr. Holland, very much so.”
“Really?” Mathilda seemed taken aback by such intensity. “Well, I’ve never met or even seen this Mr. Holland, but he must indeed be a paragon to have ensnared you so completely, my dear. Poor Paul, I fear his chances are virtually nonexistent.”
“Paul? Why do you say that?”
“Come now, Sarah. You surely do not expect me to think you’re not aware of my nephew’s feelings for you? He’s in love with you, and cannot hide the fact from his old aunt.”
Sarah lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, really and truly I am, because I like Paul so very much and the last thing I would wish to do is hurt him in any way. But I love Jack Holland, and I always will.”
“That last is a sweeping statement, my dear Sarah. No one can say categorically that they will never love anyone else. You’ll find that that is the case too. Still, enough of all that. We have work to do. I have this morning written to your father about your wardrobe. It’s just not suitable and he should forward you a further allowance to have some more presentable gowns made. A young lady should not go abroad in such flimsy garb as you at present seem to have in your wardrobe, young Sarah, and I intend to see to it that improvements are made.”
“But Mrs. Ransome, my father had those gowns made. Indeed he chose the design of most of them himself.”