by Gayle Buck
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Chapter 13
The portly gentleman immediately came over to Cassandra and took her hand. He regarded her with sharp brown eyes. “How are you, my dear? I imagine that you are feeling some anxiety, so I must at once assure you that your grandfather is not in any immediate danger. I have bled him, and we must trust that will discourage the fever from returning.”
“I am grateful, sir,” said Cassandra, returning the friendly squeeze of his thick fingers. It seemed strange to be on such familiar terms with a virtual stranger, but she remembered that this gentleman had known her sister nearly all of her life. It would be considered very odd of her to behave any other way. And she was grateful to him. When Sir Thomas had been sent for, he had come away from his house party without delay.
Sir Thomas turned to Miss Bidwell, who had risen upon his entrance as well. “You, too, may rest easy, Miss Bidwell. The old tartar we both know so well is too stubborn to die just yet. In fact, I have faith that we shall see him back in the saddle before many more weeks are past.”
“I am glad to hear it, Sir Thomas. Thank you for coming,” said Miss Bidwell quietly. “You are a good friend to Sir Marcus.”
The physician waved aside her accolade. “Nonsense. He would do the same for me if I discovered myself to be in bad straits.” He glanced casually in Mr. Raven’s direction.
Cassandra noticed it and supplied the required introduction: “Sir Thomas, I don’t believe that you have met Mr. Philip Raven.” The gentlemen exchanged nods and shook hands. “Mr. Raven is my grandfather’s godson.”
“Yes, Sir Marcus has spoken of you, Mr. Raven. Indeed, if my memory serves me correctly, I once treated you for a childhood ailment,” said Sir Thomas reflectively.
“Indeed you did, sir. I remember you very well,” said Mr. Raven with a civil nod.
“Well! This is quite like old times, then. Sir Marcus would like to be up and about, naturally, but I have recommended to him the wisdom of remaining in his bed. There is time for all the rest when he is grown stronger,” said Sir Thomas. “Belle, your grandfather was asking for you. He is asleep now, so do not disturb him tonight. However, I would like you to speak to him in the morning. He seemed peculiarly driven in his expressed desire to see you. Weems will let you know when he has awakened.”
“I will do just as you have said,” said Cassandra, nodding.
She intercepted a glance from Miss Bidwell, whose expression was slightly frowning. She thought that she had done something else to disrupt that lady’s peace of mind and immediately sought an answer. “Biddy, is something bothering you?”
“Why, no, Belle. I just thought that you might wish to see your grandfather tonight. It seems so unlike you to put it off,” said Miss Bidwell.
“Sir Thomas has just said that he is resting. It would be thoughtless and selfish of me, don’t you think, to insist upon seeing him now?” asked Cassandra, putting up her brows in polite inquiry.
“Well, of course. But— ‘ Miss Bidwell shook her head. There was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “You must do as you think best, my dear.”
Cassandra inclined her head in acknowledgment. She turned back to the physician. “May I offer you refreshment, Sir Thomas? It is chilly out, and I thought perhaps you would like to fortify yourself with some hot coffee before your went out again.”
“Why, that is very thoughtful of you, Belle,” said Sir Thomas with a faintly surprised note in his voice. “I would appreciate that very much.”
He sat down, and Cassandra served him a cup of coffee that was generously sweetened. Sir Thomas drank with every sign of pleasure. “Thank you, my dear. It is just how I like it.”
Sir Thomas turned to Mr. Raven. “Mr. Raven, I am glad that you have come to the Hall. Sir Marcus had confided to me several months ago that he had hopes of locating you. He wished you to come for a long visit. It is unfortunate that you have arrived at a time when Sir Marcus is unable to entertain you as he undoubtedly had planned.”
“Indeed, Sir Thomas, I feel myself to be an imposition at such a time. I was just saying to Miss Weatherstone that it might perhaps be better if I were to withdraw until Sir Marcus is in better stirrups,” said Mr. Raven.
“You mustn’t go, Mr. Raven,” said Miss Bidwell hurriedly. She threw a swift, censorious glance at Cassandra. “I know that Sir Marcus would not wish you to do so.”
“I have told Mr. Raven the same thing,” said Cassandra briefly. She smiled at Miss Bidwell’s sudden surprised look. She had been quite able to interpret her companion’s accusatory glance. Miss Bidwell had obviously thought that she had been trying for the last hour over coffee to persuade Mr. Raven to leave.
“Oh, don’t run away on Sir Marcus’s account, sir. Even if he were truly on his deathbed, he would want you here. It is my understanding that he has gone to some trouble in bringing you to the Hall, and I am confident that I know Sir Marcus well enough to reassure you that he would be very disappointed to learn that you had left before he had had an opportunity to have a proper visit with you,” said Sir Thomas.
Mr. Raven bowed from his seat. “Thank you. Sir Thomas. You have relieved my mind.” He met Cassandra’s gaze briefly, as though in apology.
Cassandra understood that he would have preferred to withdraw from the Hall in light of their peculiar circumstances, but that he felt obligated to remain. “You are perfectly welcome to remain as long as you wish, Mr. Raven,” she said quietly. He bowed politely, but with such a glance of irony that Cassandra had difficulty keeping a straight face. She turned to Sir Thomas and asked a question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue for several minutes. “How is your house party, Sir Thomas? Are you well satisfied with your guests?”
“Indeed I am, Belle. It has been a pleasant interlude. I shall be sorry when my guests all leave,” said Sir Thomas. “However, I expect that we shall have a full house until after the new year. Perhaps ...” His voice trailed off as he contemplated Cassandra’s attentive face. He turned to Miss Bidwell. “Perhaps you might bring Belle to supper one night, Miss Bidwell. I am certain that she would enjoy the company. There is another young lady in the party whom she would get along with famously, I dare swear.”
Cassandra looked at Sir Thomas, her expression openly startled. How odd, she thought; the gentleman wanted to bring her face-to-face with her sister. Cassandra wondered why Sir Thomas would want to do such a thing. Surely, he knew that Sir Marcus was at outs with his son, Phineas Weatherstone.
“That is a very kind invitation, Sir Thomas. Belle and I would be only too happy to accept if Sir Marcus has no objection,” said Miss Bidwell, her own evident surprise quickly covered with quiet civility.
“Oh, you may leave Sir Marcus to me. I will make it all right. You are invited, too, Mr. Raven. That goes without saying,” said Sir Thomas. He got heavily to his feet. “I must be on my way. It is a cold, dark night. My coachman will need to light the lanterns to shine the way.” He made his good-byes, once again telling Mr. Raven that he was glad to have met him again.
Cassandra went with Sir Thomas to the door. The physician kept up a steady stream of chitchat as he shrugged into his greatcoat with the help of a footman and pulled on his hat and gloves. He retrieved his black bag from the porter before turning again to Cassandra.
“You have been abnormally quiet, Belle. I suppose I must not be too surprised. Though you haven’t admitted it, you have been carrying a heavy burden these past months. However, you must trust me when I say that Sir Marcus is doing better than anyone could have expected,” said Sir Thomas in a fatherly voice. “And it is now my guarded belief that we shall see a return of much of his former good health.”
“I do not think that my grandfather shares your optimism, Sir Thomas. He says that he wishes to settle all of his business before he dies,” said Cassandra with a tiny smile.
Sir Thomas snorted. “I can hear him say it, too, in that obstinate fashion of his. Pray do not worry overmuch, Belle. You know that what
ever happens, even if the worst happens and I am proven wrong, I and Lady Kensing will stand your friends.”
“Thank you,” said Cassandra, tears stinging her eyes.
“Now do not go maudlin on me, Belle,” admonished Sir Thomas, shaking his finger at her. “You must think of other things, such as coming to dinner and meeting my guests. You will like that, I know.”
“Who are your guests? Do I know them?” asked Cassandra. She was willing to play the part that was expected of her. She knew that Belle would have been all agog at such an invitation, and so she opened wide her eyes and spoke in a slightly breathless fashion.
Apparently, her attempt at playacting was convincing, for Sir Thomas chuckled and shook his head. “You will meet them soon enough, my dear. And I suspect that you will be very surprised. However, that is for the future. I must send a note around to Sir Marcus—no, let me pen one now before I leave. That will be better.”
Cassandra showed Sir Thomas into the library, where he would find writing supplies. She waited while he rummaged through the desk for paper and a sharpened pen and the inkwell. Sir Thomas penned the short note, signing it with a flourish. “There you are, Belle. The thing is as good as done,” he said, sanding the sheet dry.
Cassandra accepted the note from him and folded it carefully. “I shall give it to my grandfather myself when I go up to see him,” she said.
“See that you do. I will be gravely disappointed if I do not see you a fortnight from now,” said Sir Thomas with a roguish wink.
Cassandra smiled as she thanked him. It would be her sister, Belle, who would actually respond to Sir Thomas’s invitation, but he was not to know that. Cassandra escorted the physician to the front door once more and this time saw the gentleman off. She turned back to the drawing room, slipping the folded note into her dress pocket.
Mr. Raven and Miss Bidwell had been making polite conversation while they awaited her return. They broke off when Cassandra entered the room.
“You were an inordinate time, Belle. Has Sir Thomas gotten off all right?” asked Miss Bidwell, a hint of anxiety in her expression.
“Yes, of course. He merely wished to pen a note to my grandfather before he left,” said Cassandra.
“I see.” Miss Bidwell looked as though she would have liked to inquire further into the matter, but she refrained. “I suppose that you will give it to Sir Marcus tomorrow.”
“Yes,” agreed Cassandra, smiling. She knew that her companion was curious, but she thought it wouldn’t do Miss Bidwell any harm to wait to learn what Sir Thomas had written. Caught up in the throes of excitement at the unusual treat in store, her sister would naturally have shown the note at once to Miss Bidwell; but that would have been a childish thing to do. No, thought Cassandra. She would hold the note that had been entrusted to her hand until she was able to deliver it to the one to whom it was directed. That was what any mature young lady would have done and no one would expect her to do less.
Cassandra realized that she was beginning to think of her sister as being a bit backward for her age. Her sister could not be held accountable, however. It was all due to Belle’s suffocating upbringing, of course. It was a wonder that Belle was as strong-willed as she was, Cassandra thought, feeling the simmering of indignation. It would harm the household not one whit to be taught a lesson, and she was in just the position to do it. Perhaps by the time that the masquerade was over, Belle would have to contend with less blind condescension.
Cassandra brushed aside the tiny part of her that was whispering caution. The course she had decided upon could well spell a greater risk of being unmasked as an impostor. But all believed her to be Belle, she argued to herself. No one at the Hall had any reason to believe otherwise.
“Well! I think that it is time for me to retire,” said Miss Bidwell, turning to put away her tatting. Over her shoulder, she said shortly, “I shall require your escort, Belle.”
“Of course. It is becoming rather late,” said Cassandra quietly, accepting her companion’s blatant tactic not to leave her downstairs unchaperoned in Mr. Raven’s company. She certainly could not fault Miss Bidwell for holding to the conventions. She held out her hand to Mr. Raven. “I shall retire now, sir. If there is anything that you require, only make your request known to Steeves.”
Mr. Raven took her hand and held it for a moment between his long fingers. “I wish that the evening had been longer, Miss Weatherstone.”
Inexplicably, Cassandra felt her heart skip a beat. A depth in his low voice said more than the formal phrase. She looked up into his handsome face, meeting his gray eyes. The expression in them was one that she had not a great deal of experience in interpreting, but instinctively she knew that he was interested in her.
Cassandra felt the warmth of a blush steal into her face. Oh, this would not do at all, she thought hurriedly. She withdrew her hand from his. “That was a very pretty compliment, sir. I thank you for it,” she said with dignity.
Mr. Raven bowed, the hint of a smile on his face.
“Come along, Belle,” said Miss Bidwell in a sharp voice. She nodded to the gentleman. “Goodnight, Philip.”
Mr. Raven bowed again. His expression had turned polite. He watched the ladies exit the drawing room.
Cassandra and Miss Bidwell traversed the hall and climbed the stairs, not exchanging a single syllable. Cassandra sensed that her companion was aggravated. Since she had no desire to open herself to a scolding, she kept her peace.
On the landing where they would go their separate ways, Miss Bidwell said stiffly, “Good night, Belle. I trust that you will sleep well.”
“Thank you. I hope that you will do the same,” said Cassandra before going into her bedroom. She closed the bedroom door quietly behind her.
Cassandra did not immediately go to bed, but stayed up reading by candlelight for an hour or more. When she did at last blow out the candles and climb into the cold bed, pulling up the coverlets, she had little difficulty in falling asleep.
She did not know how much later it was when she was shaken urgently by the shoulder and awakened out of a sound sleep.
* * *
Chapter 14
“Miss! Miss Belle!”
Cassandra blinked owlishly at the light from a single candle, momentarily dazzled. She put up her hand and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she recognized who it was that had wakened her. “Weems!” She bolted upright in the bed, sleep falling as suddenly from her as the coverlets. “What is wrong? Grandfather! Is he—”
“Don’t you worry, miss. The master is fit as can be expected,” said the valet reassuringly. However, his worn expression betrayed anxiety. “But he is asking for you, and he won’t rest again until he sees you. I am afraid that he will fret himself into another fever if he goes on the way he is.”
Cassandra reached for her wrapper, which she had draped over the end of her bed. “I shall come at once.”
The valet waited patiently for her, then preceded her out of the bedroom and down the hallway. The sole candle threw odd shapes and shifting shadows across the paneling as they made their way toward Sir Marcus’s rooms.
The valet halted and opened the door. He held the candle high so that its feeble light dispelled the dark in the dressing room. “Go on in, Miss Belle.”
Cassandra passed through the dressing room and stepped into her grandfather’s bedroom. She stopped and stared. All of the candelabras had been lit and positioned around the massive draped bed. Flickering shadows constantly shifted over the walls of the bedroom, creating a strange ghostly atmosphere.
The valet hurried past her to pull back the drapery that hung down on the side of the bed and tied it back on the massive bedpost.
“Weems?” The voice was tired and querulous.
“I have brought her, my lord,” said Weems quietly. He gestured for Cassandra to come closer. Obediently, she walked over to the bed.
“Belle? Is that you?”
“Yes, Grandfather.” Cassandra sat down in t
he chair beside the bed and took her grandfather’s hand. She was dismayed by the change wrought in him by the sickness. The candlelight threw Sir Marcus’s face into sharp relief. His skin was stretched taut over his facial bones and he appeared gray. She felt a renewed surge of guilt for being angry with him. “Oh, Grandfather.”
Sir Marcus gave a hoarse laugh. “Aye, I look like death warmed over, no doubt. I will be happy to shuffle off this mortal coil.”
“Shakespeare,” murmured Cassandra, drawing his hand up against her cheek. His skin felt like hot parchment. His signet ring was too heavy and loose on his shrunken finger.
Sir Marcus looked sharp at her. “Aye, Shakespeare. And what do you know of it, my girl?”
Cassandra realized her error. She had been at the Hall long enough to have found out that Belle had always been impatient of any sort of classical learning. Her sister would not have known even such a common reference. “Mr. Raven and I were discussing books earlier this evening,” she said with a deliberately nonchalant shrug.
“Philip bored you to distraction, did he?”
Cassandra could tell that it was merely a rhetorical question, and so she said nothing. It was better to be silent, when what she wanted to say was that Mr. Raven had been anything but boring.
Sir Marcus shook his head. His eyes drooped half closed. “My godson was always a reader. He had a head for his studies. Unlike you, Belle.”
Cassandra thought it was safe enough to agree with her grandfather’s assessment. “Biddy has said that he was a much better student than I.”
“Aye.” Sir Marcus sighed. His heavy lids lifted slightly so that he looked straight at her. “Belle, I have been thinking upon what was said here earlier.”
“Grandfather—”
“Pray do not interrupt me, Belle! It is a most annoying habit of yours, I assure you,” said Sir Marcus fitfully.
“Yes, sir,” said Cassandra, a smile trembling upon her lips.
He looked at her with suspicion for a moment, then seemed satisfied that she was actually awaiting what else he had to say. “Belle, I recognize that I have handled you wrong. You won’t be driven. You never have been. You’ve too much spirit, more’s the pity. I should have realized it at the outset, before I sent for Philip Raven.”