by Jane Feather
She locked the door again, sped across the kitchen to the backstairs, and raced up them to the safety of her own bedchamber. She closed and locked the door and stood leaning against it, catching her breath. It seemed she had been holding it since the moment she had seen Peregrine on the cliff top.
That had been no dream. None of it. Wonderingly, she touched her cheek, almost as if she could still feel the light brush of his fingertip on her cheek. She hadn’t dreamt her own feelings, that sweep of desire when he’d been about to kiss her, the moment when the world seemed to dissolve and it was just the two of them in the moonlight.
Dear God, how did it happen? It was a disaster. The ruins of her plan lay heaped about her. All it had needed was one person to suspect, and it was over. She could not maintain such a monumental deception when she knew that one single person other than her sister knew the truth.
Feeling sick, Alexandra sat down on the window seat and stared out at the coming dawn. Should she make her escape now, before the house was up? Should she plead sickness, keep to her chamber, and wait until tonight to flee, when she was once more certain everyone was asleep?
But to give up was to give up everything. Her clever diversion of Stephen’s gains on ’Change were not yet sufficient for Sylvia’s trouble-free future, let alone her own. And the library catalogue, while almost complete, still needed more work to be ready to present to the market. If she abandoned her task in the middle, she might as well never have bothered to start it in the first place.
Can Peregrine Sullivan be trusted? Her mind shifted to what had been unthinkable a moment ago. If he could be trusted to say nothing, then she could keep on with her work. She didn’t have to run immediately.
Alexandra got up from the window seat and began pacing her chamber, frowning in thought. If she could trust the Honorable Peregrine to keep his word, then she didn’t need to panic. And there was no reason for the Honorable Peregrine not to honor his word.
But could she trust herself? After those tumultuous moments on the cliff top, she had no confidence that she would run away in time again. It had taken every ounce of willpower to turn from him at the last moment. She had wanted that kiss. There was no point in denying it. Tearing herself away like that had been like tearing away a piece of skin. So if she didn’t abandon her plan, there was really only one option. She would have to find ways to avoid him for as long as he was at the Dower House. He couldn’t stay in Dorset indefinitely. Marcus never stayed in the country for more than a week, and soon he would be ready to return to London and his own pursuits, and his guest, perforce, would accompany him. And she would be left to finish what she’d started. If she could only keep out of danger until then.
Resolution hardened as she watched the sky grow pink and then glow deepest orange as the sun rose over the sea. She was too close to give it all up now, just for want of courage.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she knew she had to sleep for a few hours before she could resume the game. She wrote a hasty message on a sheet of parchment explaining that she had a severe headache and hoped to attend to her duties in the library that afternoon.
Stealthily, she opened her door and put her head outside. Sounds of the servants beginning their day came from belowstairs as she fixed the note to the door latch. She closed and relocked the door, then crawled into bed. When she didn’t appear at the breakfast table, a servant would be sent to find her and would find the note.
Peregrine returned to the Dower House, his mind whirling. Of course, he had no intention of betraying Alexandra’s secret, but now he was even more resolved to discover what lay behind it. It was such an extraordinary deception, such an effective disguise, it was hard to believe the evidence of his own eyes. But he had seen a radiant, chestnut-haired young woman dancing barefoot through the wavelets on the beach, the very same woman with whom, just a few hours ago, he’d been playing chess. A hunched drab of a woman of indeterminate age.
She had been terrified when she’d seen him there and knew that she was discovered. Terror had fueled the anger she had unleashed upon him in those furious moments. What had happened to her? What dreadful event in her life had caused her to adopt this appallingly dangerous deception? His intense curiosity now was informed by a need to help her. He didn’t trouble to question why he was so drawn to her, it wasn’t necessary to analyze it. Beneath that prickly, courageous exterior lay a vulnerable young woman. A beautiful young woman with a mind to match. And he had certainly never met her like before. She was quite possibly unique, a thought that gave him exquisite pleasure.
Marcus had told him that the side door to the Dower House was always unlocked when he was in residence, and Perry was relieved to find it still so. Dawn was just breaking, and a sleepy servant with a scuttle of coals blinked at him as he appeared in the hall.
“Mornin’, sir.”
“Good morning.” Perry nodded pleasantly and made his way upstairs to his own chamber. What could possibly have happened to force Alexandra into such an extreme charade? There had to be something suspect about the entire business. She couldn’t possibly have an aboveboard reason for such an astounding lie. And it was a blatant lie—there was no way of softening that basic fact.
And Perry’s soul had always shriveled at the thought of anything underhanded and deceitful. Would he regret discovering the truth if it showed her to be an irredeemable liar with no good reason for her deception? Was she a cheat . . . a thief? A criminal running from prosecution? Not a murderess, he was fairly certain of that. But a mountebank of some kind?
He lay back on the bed, still dressed, linking his hands behind his head, staring up at the embroidered tester. A rather intricate pattern of garlands in a riot of color made his eyes ache after a minute, and he closed them.
When next he opened them, Marcus was standing beside the bed, a coffee cup in his hand, laughing down at him. “Well, well, where did you get to, my friend? I looked for you when the party broke up, but you’d disappeared. I assumed you’d come home, but you were not sleeping the sleep of the just when I got back. And now it looks as if you’re recovering somewhat inadequately from a night on the tiles.” He set the cup on the table by the bed. “Where were the tiles? I’ve never managed to find any in this backwater.”
Peregrine rolled onto his elbow. “There aren’t any to speak of, Marcus.” He reached for the coffee and took a scalding sip. “I felt like a walk along the beach. And by chance fell in with a wench on her way home from a fruitless night plying her trade in the village.”
Marcus gave a ribald chuckle. “And you felt sorry for the poor creature and made up for her lack of fortune . . .”
“Just so, dear boy, just so.” Perry yawned. “You’ll have to excuse me from any pursuits this morning, Marcus. I’ve need of a shave and a change of clothes before I can face the day.”
“By all means. A ride to Durdle Door is not the most exciting excursion. Take your time.” He went to the door, saying over his shoulder, “ ’Tis to be hoped you didn’t take a dose of the clap last night.”
“Devoutly to be hoped,” Perry agreed with a quiet smile as the door closed on his friend.
Alexandra awoke at noon, her sleep undisturbed by inquisitive servants. She splashed cold water on her face and then began the careful process of turning herself into Mistress Hathaway. An hour later, she was ready and left her bedchamber to make her way to the library. She was hungry and in need of coffee, and once ensconced behind the desk, she rang a bell. She almost never asked the servants for anything, and the footman who answered her bell looked surprised.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Could you bring me coffee and perhaps a little bread and cheese?” she asked with the quick nervous smile she had perfected. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“No trouble, ma’am.” The man bowed, managing to convey a degree of superiority in the gesture. Mistress Hathaway, after all, was little more than a servant herself.
It was a shame she’d never hav
e the opportunity to show these disdainful, presumptuous servants whom they were really dealing with, Alex reflected. She hadn’t expected to find it as irksome as she did to have to endure the slights of the household staff in her own family’s home, where she had grown up as the indulged daughter of the house. But it was a minor irritation, and mortification was probably good for her immortal soul, she told herself without too much conviction.
She began to go through the catalogue she had assembled thus far. But for once, she found it hard to concentrate on her task. She found herself staring into the middle distance, castigating herself for the unutterable stupidity in venturing outside her bedchamber without her disguise intact. What had possessed her to take such a pointless risk?
And in the hard light of day, she was forced to accept the fact that she couldn’t possibly avoid Peregrine when he came up to the Abbey, as he was bound to. She was expected to appear in the public rooms at certain times, and she couldn’t take to her bed indefinitely. But even if he was willing to keep his distance, how could she keep up the charade in his presence, knowing that he knew that Mistress Hathaway didn’t exist? How could she still be convincing in front of someone who knew the truth? She’d be second-guessing herself at every moment.
She jumped, startled, as the door opened. “Ah, there you are, Mistress Hathaway. Feeling better, I trust.” Stephen came into the library, flicking his boots with his riding crop.
“Yes, thank you, sir.” She gave him a rather strained smile. “Did you enjoy your ride to Durdle Door?”
“Well enough, I suppose.” He perched on the edge of the desk, still flicking at the dust on his boots. “Not one for scenery, really, but the ladies like it.” He leaned sideways to look at the paper Alex was working on. “Getting on with the catalogue, I see.”
“Yes,” Alex said, wondering where this was leading.
“Well, good . . . good.” He frowned down at his boots, as if something about them displeased him. “Fact is, Lady Maude thinks, and I do, too, that ’tis time for this book business to be finished.”
Alexandra bristled involuntarily. Stephen had never pressed her about time before, so presumably his wife had put him up to it. And what did Lady Maude know of the complexity of the work?
“ ’Tis a considerable task, Sir Stephen. There are many volumes to itemize and categorize. And they all have to be cross-referenced as well. Prospective buyers will have different interests, and as many of the books come into several different classifications, they will appeal to several different buyers. A healthy competition can only increase their value.”
She stroked her cheek with the feather end of her quill, continuing without expression, “You do, I assume, sir, wish the library to fetch its true worth? In which case, ’tis necessary to attract the widest pool of possible buyers.”
It was a master stroke, as she had known, and her employer puffed out his cheeks, nodding vigorously. “Of course, of course. ’Tis up to you to know the right time. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Still nodding, he got up and left her alone.
Alexandra closed her eyes for a moment. Maude again. She seemed determined to make trouble for her. Did she sense some threat in her presence at the Abbey? No, that was ridiculous. How could a downtrodden, impoverished, unregarded spinster offer a threat to Lady Maude, wife of Sir Stephen Douglas, lord of the manor and all he surveyed? But Maude was a bully by nature, and like all bullies, she chose the most vulnerable victims. Mistress Hathaway was dependent upon her employer’s goodwill, and Stephen’s patronage probably infuriated his wife. She didn’t seem to enjoy her husband’s company that much herself, but she could resent his spending so much time with the librarian. And of course, when Stephen defended her against his wife’s criticisms, that would merely incite increased resentment.
As far as Maude was aware, Mistress Hathaway had no other means of earning her bread and the roof over her head. Cast out of the Abbey, she could well end up in the work house. Maude would relish that prospect, Alex thought with a grim smile. But even more would she relish seeing Alex languishing in a jail cell awaiting the assizes. And that would happen if anyone ever penetrated her disguise. Anyone other than Peregrine Sullivan.
The library, a room she had loved all her life, became suddenly oppressive. The house itself seemed to be closing in on her, and for the first time, she felt the strain of her self-imposed task to be unendurable. How much longer could she keep it up? How many more mornings could she go through the business of turning herself into someone else? How much longer could she go on without any real contact with anyone outside this theatre where she put on her performance?
She had to get away from the house for a while, had to drop the performance just for a little bit. If she could put some distance between herself and Maude for a while, maybe the lady would find someone else to torment. But how to manage it? What excuse could she have for leaving Combe Abbey for a day or two?
And then it came to her. In that conversation with Stephen, she had just given herself the perfect pretext to escape for a few days. It would remove her temporarily from Maude’s attention and free her from Peregrine Sullivan. He would be long gone by the time she returned to Combe Abbey. And if she couldn’t manage to finagle a quick visit to Barton to see Sylvia while she was away, then she was not as resourceful as she liked to believe.
Her spirits lifted, and she felt a surge of exhilaration at the prospect of freedom, for however short a time. Swiftly, she left the library and went in search of Sir Stephen.
She found him with his wife and some of his houseguests in the salon. The French doors were open to the long terrace that stretched the width of the house, giving access to the lawn and from there down to the cliff top. Lady Maude was sitting with her tambour frame amidst a small circle of similarly occupied ladies. She glanced up as the librarian entered timidly, as was Mistress Hathaway’s wont. She did not ordinarily leave the library during the daytime hours, and Maude frowned at her, as if, thought Alexandra, she was a rather unpleasant form of insect. She crooked an imperative summoning finger.
“I do beg your pardon, ma’am.” Alexandra approached with a curtsy. “But I would like to talk with Sir Stephen about the library.”
“ ’Tis about time you finished that task,” Maude declared with a wrinkle of her nose. “I cannot imagine how making a list of a few books could possibly take so many weeks.”
“Indeed, ma’am, ’tis a little more complex than that,” Alexandra demurred, hating the woman for her smug complacence and malicious eyes, for the fact that she was upbraiding her in front of her guests, who had abandoned their tambour frames and appeared eager for a show. “But I have an idea for speeding the process a little, since it seems to irk you so much.”
Maude’s small eyes sharpened. There was something in the librarian’s tone of voice that could almost be called impertinent. Alexandra hastily dropped a curtsy, her head lowered, her heart beating fast as she felt the other woman’s hostility. Her wretched temper would bring this adventure to a bad end before any of her other mistakes did.
Maude sniffed and pointedly turned to her neighbor, ignoring the subservient librarian. “I wonder which silk to use for these bushes. The dark or the light green . . . would you favor me with your opinion, Lady Stella?”
Alexandra stepped backwards out of Maude’s circle and took a deep steadying breath. She glanced around the salon and saw Sir Stephen, who was engrossed in a game of dice and didn’t appear to have noticed her arrival. She went over to him, a diffident smile on her lips. “Sir Stephen, I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes.” She dropped a curtsy beside his chair.
He looked up with a flicker of annoyance. “Just let me finish this game, Mistress Hathaway. I’m a throw of the dice away from winning.”
“Of course, sir. I didn’t wish to disturb you. Whenever you are able to spare me a moment.” She curtsied again and backed away, as one of the dice players threw the dice and gave a shout of triumph. “Too confident by half,
Stephen, m’boy. A pair of sixes. You can’t beat that.”
Alexandra was feeling the first rush of exhilaration die down. Maybe she had been too impetuous. It was never wise to hurry these things, she knew that, but in the full flush of her excitement at seeing a way out of this prison for a while, she hadn’t stopped to consider a moderate approach to her employer. She seemed to be making mistakes left, right, and center these days. It was not a comforting thought.
She went to the open French door and through onto the terrace, wondering whether to wait for Stephen to be free or return to the library and hope he would remember to come to her. She glanced across the lawn and then froze. Peregrine and Marcus were walking up from the Dower House, each carrying a brace of pheasants.
She was about to duck back into the salon when Peregrine raised his free hand and called, “I give you good day, Mistress Hathaway.” His pace increased, and he reached the terrace before she could fade back into the salon and from there to the sanctuary of the library.
“Mr. Sullivan.” She curtsied with the murmured greeting. “You must forgive me, I must return to the library.”
“By all means,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll join you shortly, when I’ve made my offering to Lady Douglas.” He waved the pheasants in illustration. “I’d dearly like to take another look at the Canterbury Tales.”
She could not refuse to show him the volume, so she managed a tight smile of agreement and slipped from the room, crossing the hall swiftly back to the library.
Now not only was she balked of her opportunity to speak with Stephen, but she was going to have to fence with the Honorable Peregrine. How could she avoid seeing him alone? In public, she would find distractions, but alone in the library, examining together the most precious volume in the library, at least for her . . . how could she possibly stick to her resolution?
She sat down at the desk and picked up her quill, twisting it between her fingers until it snapped, sending a splatter of ink drops over her sheet of calculations.