Silverbridge

by Joan Wolf

  “Not for more brandy,” he replied crisply. “Your body is already stressed enough; you don’t need to be adding stimulants to it.”

  With quiet intensity, Meg said, “I hate you,” jumped up from the sofa, and ran out of the room.

  An embarrassed silence fell on the three left behind. Then Tracy said, “I believe I will follow Meg, if not in quite so dramatic a fashion. It was a long day and a long night.”

  Jon put down his half-finished sherry. “I’m tired as well,” he said, and he and Tracy said good night and left the room.

  “Perhaps we could have dinner together tomorrow night,” Jon said, as they walked together down the corridor.

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea. Did you see that picture of us in the afternoon paper?”

  “Yes. I didn’t think it was so terrible. Even without makeup, you looked beautiful.”

  Tracy was annoyed. “That’s not what I meant. Now there is going to be all sorts of speculation about you and me. If we’re seen having dinner together, it will only fuel the fire.”

  “Would it be so very dreadful to have your name linked with mine?” he asked gently.

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Let me think about it, Jon.”

  “Certainly.”

  They said good night, and Tracy continued along the corridor to the door of her own room. As she put her hand on the doorknob, her pulses began to race.

  Will they be inside?

  Slowly, cautiously she pushed open the door. Inside there was only darkness. She left the door open and switched on a light.

  No one was there.

  Tracy didn’t know if what she felt was relief or disappointment. She closed the door and walked all the way into the room.

  What I have been seeing must be real, she thought. I can’t be manufacturing these apparitions out of my imagination. I saw that picture of Charles after I saw his ghost—or whatever it is that I have been seeing. And Ebony certainly knew that something was there in the drawing room.

  She continued to think as she methodically undressed and put on a pair of warm flannel pajamas. I seem to have accessed the ghost of an old love story. The girl looks so much like me… Could that be the reason I can see these people and no one else can? Was I once that girl?

  She went over to the bed and pulled down the blankets. This is ridiculous. I’m beginning to sound like Shirley MacLaine. Soon I’ll be imagining I was Cleopatra, or something equally fantastic.

  She climbed into the bed, which thankfully was made up with flannel sheets, and pulled the covers over her head in an effort to get warm. A half hour later her nose was poked out from beneath the covers and she was still wide-awake, her brain going over and over the few encounters she had had with the phantasmagoric Charles and Isabel.

  A loud knock sounded on her bathroom door, causing her to sit bolt upright in bed. It must be Meg, she thought, staring at the closed door. She said nothing, hoping that the girl would go away. She was too tired to deal with Meg.

  The knock came again, louder than before. “Are you awake, Tracy? Do you know your light is on?”

  “Damn,” Tracy muttered. Then, resignedly, “Come in.”

  The bathroom door opened to reveal Meg clad in a sweatshirt, flannel pajama pants, and furry slippers. The loose clothes helped to conceal how thin she was, and her face was flushed with color. It took a moment for Tracy to realize that she was carrying the brandy bottle and two glasses.

  “Look what I got.” She giggled. “Harry forgot to relock the cabinet when he went downstairs to let out the dogs. Won’t it be fun to get drunk together?”

  From the giggle and the flush on her face, Tracy deduced that Meg had already sampled from the brandy bottle. She said calmly, “I don’t drink, Meg. Alcohol gives me a headache. And what is your brother going to say when he finds that his brandy has disappeared?”

  Meg pushed out her lower lip. “Don’t be a shpoil-short, Tracy.” She walked unevenly across the room and parked herself on Tracy’s bed. She put the glasses down on the bedspread and giggled again. “Harry’s always watching me. Thish time I fooled him.”

  “Meg,” Tracy said gently, “why don’t you put the brandy bottle back before your brother knows you took it?”

  “No. No. No. Don’t want to.” Meg was shaking her head back and forth again and again and again. “I want us to drink it together.” She splashed some brandy into one of the glasses, spilling half of it on the spread, and took a sip. “Aaahhh,” she said. “Thash good.”

  Tracy crawled across the bed until she was beside Meg. As persuasively as she could, she said, “I’ll tell you what, Meggie. Let’s go back to your room. Okay?”

  Meg blinked her glittering blue eyes. “We’ll party there?”

  Still in the same coaxing voice, Tracy said, “Give me the brandy bottle, and we’ll walk to your room together.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Meg relinquished the bottle to Tracy, slid off the bed, and immediately fell to her knees. She held her stomach and began to laugh.

  The brandy bottle was about three-quarters full. Harry had been right, Tracy thought. It wouldn’t take much to make Meg intoxicated.

  Tracy put the bottle on the floor, bent to slip an arm around Meg’s shoulders, and boosted her to her feet. “Come on, Meggie. Come with me.”

  Meg let Tracy begin to walk her across the room.

  They had almost made it to the bathroom when Meg said, “Don’t feel sho good.”

  Tracy practically shoved her into the bathroom and flipped open the toilet bowl. Meg immediately began to retch.

  Half an hour later, after Tracy had cleaned Meg up and got her into bed, then cleaned up the bathroom as best she could, she took the brandy bottle back to the morning room. She would just leave it on top of the cabinet, she thought, so that Lord Silverbridge would know what had happened. She had no desire to discuss his sister’s problems with him.

  A small lamp was always kept lit at the top of the stairs, and it gave enough light for Tracy to see her way down the hall. It was dark in the morning room, but Tracy could make out the liquor cabinet, and she walked swiftly across the floor and placed the brandy bottle squarely on top of it. She had turned around to leave when a voice said, “Dare I hope that it was you who stole the brandy?”

  Tracy jumped. “Good God!” She stared at the shadowy figure that had risen from an armchair and was now crossing the floor in her direction. “You almost gave me a heart attack, my lord!”

  He stopped next to her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Did you get the brandy from Meg?”

  Tracy’s heart was racing, but it wasn’t from being frightened. He was so close that she could feel him in all her nerve endings. She said, “Yes. She came to my room wanting to party. I don’t think she drank very much.”

  “Is she all right?”

  The light from the hall lamp was not bright enough to allow her to distinguish his expression. His voice sounded edgy, she thought. She looked up into his shadowed face, and replied, “Yes. She threw up, so most of it is out of her stomach. She should be okay in the morning.”

  She saw his eyebrows draw together. “I hope to God she didn’t throw up in your room.”

  The sound of his voice was doing funny things to her stomach. What is wrong with me? she thought desperately. She heard herself saying, “We made it to the bathroom in time.”

  I am wearing only thin pajamas and he is much too close. That’s what’s wrong with me. She tried to take a step back, but for some reason her legs didn’t move.

  He said, “I am so sorry that you were subjected to this unpleasantness, Miss Collins.”

  He was almost as tall as Scotty had been. Tracy’s eyes were on a level with his mouth, and his lips were so perfectly cut they might have been chiseled in stone. She stared at his mouth and struggled to come up with a reply. Some part of her brain was still functioning because she managed to say, “No problem, my lord. And I won’t mention what happened to anyone else.”
<
br />   “Thank you.” His cool, clipped voice sounded deeper than usual.

  All of a sudden the stillness that she had felt the first time she saw him seemed to settle over her, like a fleecy blanket. She raised her eyes to his and what she saw there made all of her insides clench. He bent his head, and she saw his beautiful mouth coming down toward hers, and she didn’t move. He kissed her.

  It was like coming home.

  For a long while she stood perfectly still, and then she leaned against him, her arms encircled his waist, and she spread her hands flat against his back. The intensity of her response was dizzying. Everything inside her was quivering, and she could feel the liquid heat gushing through her loins. He could have carried her to the sofa and taken her, and she would have let him do it.

  It was he who finally broke the kiss. He placed his hands on her shoulders and put her away from him. Tracy had to force herself to let him go.

  “Christ.” His voice sounded as shaken as she felt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She was incapable of saying a word.

  “I apologize, Miss Collins,” he said. “You must have had your fill of the Olivers tonight. I’ll leave you to return to your bedroom. Good night.”

  Tracy watched him walk away in dumbfounded astonishment. No man had ever kissed her and walked away. Yet there he was, the mighty Lord Silverbridge, walking with measured steps toward his room.

  Even though he was moving without haste, it suddenly occurred to Tracy that he had the look of a man who is running away.

  To her great surprise, Tracy fell instantly asleep and did not awaken until just after sunup the following morning. The world outside her window looked fresh and new. The delicate, lacy canopies of new-budded trees cast their shade over the spring green lawn, and the sound of birds floated to her ears.

  The impulse was irresistible. I’m going out.

  She dressed in a pair of jeans from her suitcase, pulled on a sweater, and went along the corridor to the staircase. As she reached the ground floor, she met Harry emerging from the kitchen staircase. He was dressed in high black boots, fawn-colored breeches, and a gray sweater. His dogs were with him.

  They stared at each other in shocked surprise. Tracy could feel her face color, which annoyed her no end.

  He recovered first. “Miss Collins! What are you doing up so early?”

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said. Her voice was huskier than usual, and this annoyed her as well.

  The dogs had sat on either side of their master and were regarding Tracy with peaceful brown eyes.

  “It is a lovely morning,” he agreed. “In fact, I was just going for a ride.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Would you care to join me?”

  The less time I spend in the company of this man, the safer I will be, Tracy thought.

  “I’d love to,” she heard herself saying. “I’ll have to ride in jeans, though.”

  He looked down at the lace-up boots she had put on to protect her feet from the dew. “Jeans are fine, and your boots have a heel, so they’re all right too.”

  “Great.”

  “Come along then,” he said. “We’ll have to get to the stable before the horses are grained, or you won’t have anything to ride.”

  10

  Why the hell did I ask her to ride with me ?

  Harry strode furiously along the path to the stable, his long legs eating up the ground, completely unaware that Tracy was having to half run to keep up with him.

  She’s trouble. The last thing in the world I need is to get involved with another high-profile diva.

  He was not paying attention to her but knew instantly when she was no longer beside him. He stopped and turned to look for her.

  She was standing on the path, her arms folded across her chest, her expression mutinous. “I’ll meet you down there,” she said. “I’m not in the mood for a race.”

  The gold streaks in her glorious hair glinted in the bright light of early morning. Her skin was flawless, and her dark blue crewneck sweater exactly matched her eyes. The curve of her mouth held a suggestion of great sweetness. Every time he looked at her he felt profoundly stirred.

  They stood on the path, regarding each other, and all he could think about was kissing her. He cleared his throat, and said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll walk slower.”

  She nodded, and they once more began to walk toward the stable. The spaniels, who had been scampering ahead of him and who had stopped when he did, started up again as well.

  When they reached the stable most of the horses were chewing their breakfast hay in their stalls and Peter, one of his grooms, was saddling Pendleton up in the aisle. “Who hasn’t been grained yet?” Harry asked the boy.

  “None of them, my lord. I was waiting for them to finish half of their hay.”

  “Good.” Harry called to one of the young girls scrubbing water buckets. “Gloria, will you saddle up Maestro, please? Put Lady Margaret’s saddle on him.”

  “Sure thing, my lord,” came the cheerful reply and the tall, skinny teenager put down her bucket and went to bring a second horse out into the aisle.

  He turned to Tracy. “Maestro is my hunter. He’s very comfortable. He’ll give you an easy ride.”

  “That’s good,” she replied with a crinkle of her charmingly tilted nose. “I’m afraid that my riding muscles are badly out of shape.”

  He nodded. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how you can be in terrific shape in every way, but if you haven’t ridden in a while, you’ll still be sore. Riding just uses muscles that you don’t use in any other activity.”

  “Don’t remind me. Dave would have a heart attack if he knew I was doing this.”

  He said stiffly, “In that case, perhaps you oughtn’t to come.”

  For the first time ever, she smiled at him. “But I want to. I have missed riding very much.”

  His stomach clenched. Christ, he thought. What is going on here?

  At that moment, Peter led Pendleton into the stable yard, and Harry gratefully went to take his reins. He looked into his horse’s soft, intelligent eyes and stroked his nose. “Good morning, little fellow.”

  Pen whuffled through his nose in response.

  Tracy came to stand at his shoulder. “He’s beautiful.” She sounded as if she meant it.

  Harry continued to stroke Pen’s nose. “He’s the smartest horse I’ve ever known. Everything he’s accomplished he’s done because of his brain. Once he understands what you want, he’ll kill himself to get it right.”

  “He looks very happy.”

  She had said exactly the thing that he liked most to hear. “He deserves to be,” he replied a little gruffly, and patted his beloved horse’s satiny seal brown neck.

  There was the clap clap sound of shod hooves on cobblestones, and Gloria brought Maestro to stand next to Pen. “My,” Tracy said to the big gelding, “Aren’t you handsome?”

  Maestro pricked his ears forward and regarded his admirer regally. Tracy laughed and glanced at Harry. “He seems to be well accustomed to compliments.”

  He smiled in return. “That coat of his has always attracted attention.”

  Maestro was a chestnut with a particularly bright, almost copper-colored coat that gleaned with good health and good grooming. “You’re a good match,” Harry heard himself saying. “Two redheads.”

  She gave him a startled look, and he was annoyed with himself. Why the hell did I say that? Now she’ll think I’m flirting with her.

  She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle—not an easy feat as Maestro was almost seventeen hands high. She picked up her reins and moved her leg out of the way for Gloria to adjust the stirrups from Meg’s length to hers. Harry watched while she okayed the new length, approving of the way she sat, with her shoulders, hips, and knees all lined up correctly. Then he mounted Pendleton, who was a much smaller horse than Maestro, barely sixteen hands in height.

  Tracy commented on this as the
y walked out of the stable yard, “somehow, I pictured Pendleton as being bigger.”

  “I know. It’s always been a problem in the show ring because the judges like big horses. But the Lipizzaners of the Spanish Riding School in Vienna are not even as tall as he is.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. I’ve seen them in performance, and they look quite large.”

  “They have enormous presence—and so does Pen when he’s in the ring.” He leaned forward to pat his mount’s arched neck.

  They walked along for perhaps five minutes, Harry carefully checking to see how she handled Maestro, who had a tender mouth. By the time they reached the home woods he was satisfied that he could trust her not to inflict pain. As the horses stepped onto the familiar terrain of the bridle path, their ears pricked forward, and their pace quickened.

  “What about a brisk trot to warm up?” Harry asked.

  “I’d love it.”

  The dogs had already disappeared into the woods in search of fun, and now Pen began to trot along the dirt path, which was only wide enough for one horse. The way was clear, however. Harry always had the trees alongside the bridle paths pruned, so there was no danger of a rider being hit in the head by an overhanging branch.

  The woodland flowers were everywhere, the bluebells and windflowers and cowslips splashing their bright colors across the green-brown forest floor. The air smelled fresh and new. It was Harry’s favorite time of day, and he felt happy.

  He pulled up at a place where the path turned down a sharp incline and turned to regard Tracy. Her hair was a windblown mass of curls, her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were flushed to an exquisite rose. “He’s fabulous,” she said, enthusiastically patting Maestro’s neck. “Even out in the woods, he goes perfectly straight.”

  Harry felt a rush of pleasure. So she really did know something about horses. “All of my horses go straight. You can’t achieve anything with a horse unless he goes forward and goes straight.”

  She regarded him ironically. “I told you I’ve read Podhajsky, my lord.”