‘How was it delivered?’
Sarah cursed him. ‘Tom Brookes delivered it,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Miss Meredith’s message asked me to meet her at the Folly Tower at midnight, so I went to meet her.’
‘But she was not there?’ Guy’s scrutiny was relentless. Sarah could only be grateful that he had not yet asked her anything that would require a direct lie.
‘As you saw,’ she said woodenly. ‘Miss Meredith was not there, but someone else was.’
‘Yes.’ Guy turned away, to consider the view of Blanchland through the curtain of trees. The Folly Tower could just be seen in the distance.
‘Strangely, I had heard a rumour that Miss Meredith would be at the Folly Tower—a rumour that proved to be false. I wonder if your mystery assailant was also aware of that rumour?’
‘Very possibly,’ Sarah said carefully.
‘Yet you do not know who he was?’
‘No, I do not know—’
‘But perhaps you might hazard a guess…’
Sarah pulled a face. ‘You question me hard, sir! To what purpose?’
‘I am testing your veracity,’ Guy admitted easily, ‘for, despite your apparent openness, I believe you are hiding something, Miss Sheridan!’
Sarah flushed and hoped that it could be attributed to anger, not guilt. ‘I have answered your questions quite truthfully, my lord!’
‘Sins of omission, not commission,’ Guy murmured. ‘Tell me, Miss Sheridan, do you think that the note and the rumour were laying a deliberately false trail?’
Sarah chose her words with care. ‘In the light of what happened, I believe it must be so, my lord.’
‘And Lord Lebeter’s part in all this? What can that be? These woods were damnably crowded last night, were they not?’
Sarah saw with relief that they were about to emerge onto the carriage sweep at the front of Blanchland.
‘Lord Lebeter claimed to be suffering from insomnia,’ she said.
Guy laughed. ‘I heard him! A common complaint! So, do you intend to try to seek Miss Meredith out again?’
‘No,’ Sarah said truthfully, ‘I shall wait for her to contact me. Excuse me, my lord, I must change out of these damp clothes.’
Guy bowed slightly. ‘Very well, Miss Sheridan. You have managed not to tell me a word of a lie, but even so…’
He sauntered off towards the games room, leaving Sarah standing on the gravel and feeling a mixture of relief and guilt. Just how much he knew she could not tell, but it could only be a matter of time before he pressed her for the whole story. Yet if anyone could be accused of withholding information, it had to be he, for he had as yet breathed no word of his own purpose in searching for Olivia.
Sarah ran hastily upstairs to get changed before anyone saw her. Further down the corridor a veritable army of maids was dusting and scrubbing, and Sarah could hear Amelia’s voice calling instructions and exhortations. She dived into her room before her cousin could remark on her dishevelled state, and did not emerge again until the bell rang for luncheon.
In the afternoon, Amelia was persuaded to abandon her cleaning efforts for a while and join Sarah, Greville and Justin Lebeter on an expedition to go skating on the lake. The other members of the house party declined with expressions of horror, except for Sir Ralph, who somewhat surprisingly chose to join them. The thickness of the ice was tested to the full when Sir Ralph lumbered onto it, but he proved surprising agile on his skates and even performed an elegant skaters’ waltz with Amelia.
This time, Sarah kept well away from Guy and gave him no opportunity to speak with her alone. The look of amusement he cast her showed that he perfectly understood her attempts to avoid him and left her with the unsettling impression that he was only biding his time.
A small bonfire was burning by the greenhouses as they made their way back to the house, and Amelia stepped aside for a quick word with Tom Brookes, who was industriously feeding the flames with what appeared to be old books and papers. Sir Ralph, deep in conversation with Greville Baynham, did not appear to notice the conflagration until a stray breath of wind whirled a fragment of paper into his path. He bent absentmindedly to pick it up, cast it a vague glance, then stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence.
‘My lithographs! My books!’
Everyone stared at the bonfire, where one of the books was shrivelling, its pages curling and turning dark brown. Nearby ashes gave mute testimony to the demise of other volumes. One last edition fell open as it succumbed to the flames, revealing the saucy cartoons inside. Sir Ralph was wailing and appeared to be about to rake through the ashes with his bare hands.
Amelia put a consoling hand on his arm.
‘I am so sorry, Sir Ralph. They had the woodworm and smelled quite unpleasant besides! It is the library, you know—I suspect you may have a problem with the drains…’
Sarah looked at Sir Ralph’s stricken face and privately wondered whether Amelia had gone too far this time. There would be no more cosy evenings in the library for Sir Ralph and his guests, tickling their appetite with erotic prints.
‘Did you sort through the volumes yourself, Lady Amelia?’ Greville was asking, with a speculative look. ‘What a selfless act!’
Sir Ralph’s shoulders slumped and he trudged off alone towards the house. Sarah was about to follow her cousin indoors, but at that moment Justin Lebeter caught up with her.
‘Miss Sheridan—may I have a moment of your time? In private?’
Sarah stood back to allow the rest of the party to pass them, and waited for him to speak. Olivia’s beau was tall and fair, with a rather earnest expression and bright blue eyes. He fixed these pleadingly on Sarah’s face.
‘I am sorry to approach you like this, ma’am,’ he stammered, a little red in the face. ‘Indeed, it is only my concern for…that is, I am anxious to find a certain young lady, and I had heard—’ He broke off self-consciously.
Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, sir? You had heard…’
‘That you came to Blanchland to see Miss Olivia Meredith!’ Lord Lebeter said in a rush. ‘I would not listen to gossip, but I am anxious to see the young lady myself—’
‘I see,’ Sarah said drily.
Justin Lebeter flushed an even brighter red. ‘Oh, no, I would not wish you to misunderstand me, ma’am! Miss Meredith is an old school friend of one of my sisters and I had an invitation for her to visit—’ Here he broke off again at the somewhat sceptical look in Sarah’s eye. He squared his shoulders. ‘The point of the matter is that Miss Meredith seems to have disappeared and I am worried about her! I wondered whether you had seen her, ma’am?’
Sarah relented of her teasing. It seemed that Lord Lebeter was made of sterner stuff than first appeared and he did seem sincerely concerned about Olivia. She wished that she could reassure him, but that was impossible whilst Olivia was still in danger.
‘It is true that I came here to meet with Miss Meredith,’ she said, wishing that she did not always need to choose her words with such care, ‘but I have found that she is from home at present. I am sorry, Lord Lebeter—I really cannot help you.’
Lebeter’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, Sarah had the feeling that he knew far more than he had said.
‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ he said again, ‘but I was under the impression that you had actually met with Miss Meredith.’
Now it was Sarah’s turn to feel uncomfortable at being forced into a direct denial. ‘No, indeed,’ she said, a little too quickly, ‘you are mistaken, sir.’
‘I see,’ Lebeter said. He looked both embarrassed and awkward, as though he wished to accuse her of something but could not quite find the words. After a moment, he bowed abruptly and walked on ahead of her into the house. Sarah, aware that Guy had seen the exchange from the doorway, followed with her face averted. The whole incident had been disconcerting because she hated the deceit and knew that Lord Lebeter was genuinely worried about Olivia. She also had the distinct impression that Lebeter had not bel
ieved her, and wondered why. And if Lebeter should express his doubts to Guy—what then?
Chapter Nine
Sir Ralph was still sunk deep in gloom at dinner. The loss of his beloved lithographs and his prized collection of erotic books was a blow that he could hardly bear and he ate his way through the first course in a stolid silence. The food was excellent once again, and it appeared that Sir Ralph’s guests were beginning to resign themselves to the lack of wine, some of them even grudgingly complementing the spring water on its purity. The fish course, a fine salmon in anchovy sauce, was followed by a syllabub brought in by the black-clad footman whom Sarah now knew to be the obsequious Marvell. Amelia had made no secret of the fact that she disliked him, but her clean sweep of the servants had so far failed to dislodge him.
Marvell delivered the syllabub with an ingratiating smile, whispering something in Lord Allardyce’s ear as he did so that brought an arrested look to the peer’s eyes. Allardyce’s pensive gaze travelled from Amelia to Sarah, where it lingered in blatant appraisal before he applied himself to the dish before him. Sarah turned her shoulder, uncomfortable as always with his scrutiny.
Amelia and Greville, having spent an afternoon without bickering, were actually sitting next to each other at the table, which meant that Sarah had Greville on one side of her and Justin Lebeter on the other. Despite their difficult encounter that afternoon, Lebeter proved pleasantly attentive and was far more comfortable company than Allardyce. For once, Sarah began to relax and actually to enjoy the meal.
The syllabub tasted of lemon, but with a curious aftertaste that was so sweet as to be almost cloying. Sarah paused to consider the flavour and noticed that Guy was the only one not eating, having waved away the food that Marvell had offered him. She took another thoughtful spoonful, almost certain that she did not like it and wondering what Amelia would think. This would certainly not be one of her recipes. Her cousin, however, seemed oblivious to the food, for she was leaning close to Greville and seemed utterly absorbed in what he had to say. Sarah smiled, thinking how pleasant it was to see them in accord for once. Almost without thinking, she took another mouthful of syllabub, then pushed the bowl away, repelled by the taste.
A huge haunch of beef followed the syllabub and everyone applied themselves with enthusiasm. After a while, Sarah observed that a curious change of mood appeared to have come over Sir Ralph’s guests. They were chatting and laughing as freely as though the wine had been circulating for hours, rediscovering the uninhibited enjoyment that had characterised the first dinner Sarah had experienced at Blanchland. Mrs Fisk leant forward and playfully stuck her tongue in Sir Ralph’s ear. Lord Allardyce was trailing kisses along Lady Tilney’s bare shoulder, but his eyes met Sarah’s across the table, wide with mockery and lust. Sarah looked away hastily, suddenly anxious to escape. This was much worse than the first night. Sir Ralph’s guests seemed totally unrestrained, their expressions glazed as they neglected their food for more exciting pleasures.
Sarah was about to get to her feet when something even more strange occurred. Lord Lebeter leaped up and rushed from the room without a word, the door slamming violently behind him. No one except Sarah appeared to notice. She turned to look at Amelia, about to suggest that they retire, and experienced a dreadful shock. Amelia’s hand was resting on Greville’s thigh and, as Sarah watched in utter amazement, she leant forward and pressed a lingering kiss on his mouth.
Sarah gave a little squeak, part-dismay and part-disbelief. How could Amelia, so proper, so much a high stickler for convention and good behaviour, have succumbed to the gross conduct of Sir Ralph’s party? It was impossible and yet, before her very eyes, Greville and Amelia rose from the table and went out of the room, entwined in each other arms. They paused frequently to embrace each other, playfully and lovingly kissing and stroking until Sarah thought her eyes would fall out with shock.
There was a movement beside her as Guy slid into the seat vacated by Justin Lebeter. Unlike the rest of the company, his gaze was steady and his voice held a note of emphasis that immediately caught Sarah’s attention, despite her agitation.
‘Listen to me, Miss Sheridan. We do not have much time. How much of that syllabub did you eat?’
Sarah gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘Only a few spoonfuls. I did not care for the taste. What—?’
‘The syllabub contained an aphrodisiac, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy’s gaze was urgent. ‘Do you understand me? It held some kind of drug that increases the sexual appetite.’ He gestured at the others. ‘That is the explanation for what you see before you. And if you ate any at all, you will soon feel the same.’
Sarah could feel the blood draining from her face. ‘But I only ate a few mouthfuls! And I feel perfectly well—’
‘No matter.’ Guy leant towards her, his face set. ‘It takes longer to work on some than others, and it may be that the lesser dose will have less severe an effect, but we cannot stay here discussing it! You must come with me—’
‘No!’ Sarah got to her feet, suddenly terrified. Everywhere were scenes of the most shocking debauchery as Sir Ralph’s guests threw themselves wholeheartedly into the orgy. The lurid pictures on the wall, the statues, the romping nymphs on the frieze, all seemed to mock her with their knowing eyes. She gave a little moan of terror.
Guy’s hand closed about her wrist so hard that the pain cut through her hysteria. He was already on his feet and pulling her towards the door.
‘Listen to me, Sarah,’ he said again. ‘You must stay with me. It is the only way that you will be safe. I promise—’
And then it happened. They were out in the hall, in the flickering candlelight. Sarah felt a curious feeling steal over her, a weakness that left her warm but trembling. An irresistible urge to touch Guy came over her, and she raised her hand to stroke his cheek. The skin felt smooth beneath her fingers, deliciously cool. She brushed her fingers across the curve of his mouth, wishing she could pull it down to meet hers. Her heightened senses were full of him—the smell and the touch, the need for more…
She saw him smile as he gently took her hand and restrained her caresses.
‘This is where matters become rather difficult,’ he said, and even through the fever in her blood, Sarah thought she heard a note of regret. It did not matter, however, for he had already swept her up into his arms and was carrying her up to her room. Sarah turned her face against his neck and pressed little kisses into the warmth of his throat, and felt very happy. In the heat of her desire, alone with Guy was precisely where she wanted to be.
Sarah woke to pale darkness. Her mind felt as shadowy as the room, floating, insubstantial. She blinked, and the light came into focus. The candle beside the bed was burned so low it was almost out, but beyond it the grey shade of dawn was creeping into the room. Sarah turned her head very slowly.
Guy was lying beside her, and very deeply asleep. The cold morning light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension there, the hollows and lines of exhaustion. Sarah jumped as though stung, and immediately his eyes flew open and he reached across and grabbed her.
‘Oh! Let me go! What are you doing here?’ Sarah’s words came out in a muffled scream.
She lay quite still, staring up into his face in horrified incomprehension.
Guy’s dark eyes searched her face for a moment, then he let her go and sat up. ‘You do not remember anything?’
‘Remember what? I…’ Sarah’s voice trailed away and she frowned. Vague memories flickered through her mind, vivid dreams…She could see the dining-room and images of debauchery wherever she looked; she could remember a feeling of confusion when Amelia disappeared; she saw Guy, speaking to her urgently; recalled a feeling of intense frustration and thwarted desire…And always his voice, speaking to her soothingly, his arms holding her gently but with none of the passion that she desperately wanted and had begged for…
‘Oh, no!’ Sarah’s eyes were wild. ‘It was not a dream?’
‘It was not a dream.’ Guy
took her hands in a steadying clasp. ‘Sweetheart, listen. It is all over and you are quite safe. Nothing happened, I promise you—’
‘But I remember!’ Sarah said desperately. ‘The things I said—what I did! Oh!’
She tried to free herself, but Guy refused to let go. His voice was very calm and quiet.
‘You were not responsible for your actions. I swear you came to no harm, Sarah!’
Sarah burst into tears. She could not have stopped herself even had she wanted to. As it was, the flood of tears was a welcome relief from the horrors of night, the shock and the shame. She cried, and Guy held her trembling body in his arms, murmuring endearments and holding her gently until she calmed at last and fell quiet.
‘I dare say that you will be wanting to change your clothes, and have some food and drink,’ Guy said, very practically, when at last he let her go. ‘I will go to fetch something from the kitchens. Do not open the door whilst I am gone.’
His matter-of-fact tone had the desired effect. Sarah moved almost mechanically to strip off her dress, wash her tearstained face and find some fresh clothes. All the time, her words and actions from the previous night flashed through her mind like some terrible play. She had repeatedly tried to entice Guy, rubbing herself against him in an utterly shameless way and begging for his kisses. She had tried to pull off her own clothing, never mind his! It seemed impossible, unbelievable, and yet…One thing she did remember with utter clarity was that Guy had repeatedly refused her, and the worst thing was that she was so confused that she did not know whether to be glad or sorry…
A knock at the door recalled her from the dreadful nightmare, and she went to let Guy in. Whilst she pulled back the curtains and tidied the room, he coaxed the fire into life, then drew Sarah over to sit beside it. She noticed that he had had a chance to change, but not to shave, and that there were shadows as well as stubble darkening his face.
‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked, his tone still carefully neutral.
Blanchland Secret Page 18