She chuckled. “I dare say he would have done, sir, except that he knows very well that it is only Molly, and he much prefers to believe in a ghost.”
“You have not taxed the girl with it, or tried to catch her in the act?”
“No. Mama is still of the opinion that I should do so, but only consider the consequences. If I caught Molly playing ghost I could not punish her, except by turning her off, and I could scarcely do that, and expect her parents to continue in our service. Where, pray, could I find anyone to take their place, in an establishment such as Garth House? It is far better to feign ignorance, for she will tire of these tricks when she finds they are having no effect.” She paused, for they had reached a stretch of wall in a better state of preservation than the rest, with a narrow flight of steep steps winding upward at one end. “Is this where we must go to admire the view you spoke of?”
“It is, unless you have any objection to climbing these steps.”
“None, sir. I am not so poor-spirited.”
She withdrew her hand from his arm, lifted the hem of her skirt, and went nimbly in front of him up the flight. At the top, a level walk stretched the length of the wall, and afforded an undeniably magnificent view across miles of rolling countryside. Dione gave an exclamation of pleasure.
“Oh, you are right! It is truly breathtaking!”
They lingered there for some ten minutes, while he pointed out various landmarks in the prospect before them. Afterward, as they descended from the battlements, Greydon taking Dione’s hand to assist her down the steps, she halted on the lowest stair to say quietly:
“Thank you, Sir Greydon.”
He smiled. “For showing you the view from the castle?”
“For everything. For driving me to town; for bearing with my ill humor and persuading me into a better one.” She hesitated, and then added rather shyly: “For understanding.”
He did not immediately reply. Standing as she was on the lowest step, her face was level with his so that they looked straight into each other’s eyes. Dione became aware of an unfamiliar emotion, pleasurable and yet alarming. The hand he was holding trembled in his, and with the other she made a little, pleading gesture, entreating she knew not what. For an instant his grip tightened, but immediately relaxed again; he lifted her hand briefly to his lips, and then tucked it once more in his arm.
“Yes,” he said reassuringly, “I understand. Come, I will take you home.”
FOUR
“Dee!” Theodore burst indignantly into the parlor, where his eldest sister was struggling, with indifferent success, to make sense of Mrs. Ibstone’s exceedingly haphazard household accounts. “Did you tell Ibstone I was not to be allowed to go into the stables?” “No,” she replied dampingly, “and pray do me the kindness, Theo, of endeavoring to enter a room in a gentlemanly manner, and not as though you were a charge of cavalry.”
“I’m sorry, but, Dee, the stable door can’t be opened. There is a big padlock on it.”
“There was a padlock on it when we arrived here.”
“Yes, I know, but I thought Ibstone would undo it when I told him I wanted to go in there.”
Dione laid down her pen and regarded him in bewilderment. “Why in the world should you wish to do such a thing? There are no horses there.”
“I know. Ibstone keeps his old horse in one of the other buildings. I just wanted to see the stables. I may have a horse of my own one day.”
“By that time, my dear, if it ever comes, the stables will probably have fallen down,” she retorted ruefully. “That is why the door is locked. Ibstone says the roof is unsafe.”
“It doesn’t look unsafe.”
“Very likely not, but I think we must allow Ibstone to know more about that than we do. The stables have not been used for many years, for all Cousin Jonathan’s horses were sold long ago, and so I daresay nothing has been done to keep the building in repair.”
“Nothing much has been done to the house, either, has it?” he remarked with devastating candor. “Molly says that when it rains hard the roof leaks like a sieve.”
“What an enchanting prospect!” Dione said wryly. “Do go away, Theo! I am too busy to listen to your chatter. Have you done the lessons I set you?”
“Oh, yes! Hours ago.” Theodore spoke airily, but then, realizing that this was perhaps unwise, hastily amended the statement. “I have finished them, anyway. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll go and wait for Jem.”
He beat a hurried retreat, and Dione took up her pen again, reflecting that the improvement in Theo’s health since coming to Garth House was an argument in favor of remaining there which would be useful when Eustace descended upon them and tried to insist upon their returning to London. Any such insistence Dione was determined to resist, and if occasional doubts troubled her, or the suspicion that Garth House in winter would be a very different proposition from Garth House in summer, she had so far managed to stifle them.
Theodore’s cheerful reference to the state of the roof had recalled those doubts forcibly to her mind. Broken windows and a leaking roof somehow would have to be set to rights before the bad weather set in, and though Dione had no idea of the cost of such an undertaking, she had an uneasy feeling that it would be formidable. She must remember to ask Sir Greydon’s advice next time she saw him.
It occurred to her as she sat there, thoughtfully brushing the feather of her pen to and fro against her chin, that seeking advice from Greydon Varleigh had become a habit with her. Just as visiting Garth House had, apparently, become a habit with him, for there were not many days when he failed to call upon them. Since the time he had driven her to town a closer understanding had been established between them; they had, she thought, become friends, and the knowledge of that friendship was warm and reassuring at the back of her mind even when she was not actually thinking of him.
She wondered sometimes, with a sinking heart, how she would go on when he was no longer at Rushbourne, and this thought led inevitably to speculation as to why he was there now. Dione had lived long enough in London to know that at this time of year people of fashion congregated there for the Season, for a concentrated whirl of social activity which lasted for several months before they dispersed again to their country houses, or transferred the pursuit of pleasure to Brighton and its nearby resorts. There must be some compelling reason for a fashionable man like Sir Greydon to isolate himself in the country at such a time. She had felt more than once that he was deeply troubled about something, and had wondered with anxious sympathy what it might be, but apparently they had not yet achieved a degree of intimacy where he felt the need to confide in her, no matter how much he encouraged her to confide in him. Perhaps, she reflected with unaccountable despondency, it was presumptuous of her to imagine that he ever would.
The task she had set herself was still not completed at dinner time, and after the meal, in spite of her mother’s protests, she returned to it.
“I must finish the accounts tonight, Mama,” she said when Mrs. Mallory urged her to leave them until the following day. “I am just beginning to make sense of them, but after a night’s sleep I would be as much at a loss as I was this morning. Besides, you know how I hate the task. If I complete it tonight I can go to bed with a clear conscience.”
Mrs. Mallory sighed, but wasted no more breath upon arguments which she knew would prove futile. At ten o’clock she and Cecilia went upstairs, and Dione worked steadily on until, shortly before midnight, Mrs. Ibstone’s straggling columns of figures on assorted scraps of paper, which had been hopelessly muddled with bills and even one or two recipes, had been reduced to order and set out neatly on fresh pages in Dione’s firm, capable handwriting. The tale they told was not encouraging, but she felt too tired to worry over it that night. Yawning, she lit her bedroom candle, extinguished the others and went slowly up the stairs, her feet in their light sandals making no sound on the ancient, solid oak boards.
Her eyes, strained by the long hours of poring over fig
ures, were already heavy with sleep as she pushed open the door of the Great Bedchamber, and for a bemused moment she could not believe what they were telling her. Moonlight streamed through the window in the opposite wall, painting diamond-shaped patterns on the floor and mistily outlining the figure of a man which stood between the fireplace and the foot of the bed. Dione had a fleeting impression of a stooping, white-haired figure leaning on a stick, and then there was a whirl of movement, she gave a startled cry as the candle was dashed from her hand to extinguish itself on the floor, and something brushed past her and out of the door. She made an instinctive grab at it, set her foot on the fallen candle and fell heavily. Her head struck something with stunning force and everything dissolved into darkness.
She could have been unconscious for only a minute or two when her senses painfully returned, for Theodore was on his knees beside her, insistently calling her name, but though other agitated voices could be heard, no one else had yet arrived upon the scene. Apart from her brother and herself, the Great Bedchamber was empty.
“What is it? What has happened?” Mrs. Mallory came hurrying in, still fastening her dressing gown. A smothered shriek left her lips. “Dee! Oh, merciful heaven!”
Cecilia and Edwina were close behind her, pale and frightened, anxious questions on their lips. Dione tried to answer, but had difficulty in marshalling her thoughts, and it was Theodore who offered a partial explanation.
“I heard a bump and a shout. It woke me up, and when I came to see what it was, I found Dee lying on the floor.”
“Oh, my poor girl!” Mrs. Mallory dropped to her knees beside her daughter. “Are you ill? What has happened to you?”
Edwina, practical still in spite of her fright, hurried into Theodore’s room and fetched the lamp which Dione still kept burning there. As light brightened in the Great Bedchamber, Dione lifted a shaking hand to shield her eyes and said thickly:
“I tripped and fell. Pray help me up, Mama.”
Between them, Mrs. Mallory and Cecilia got her to her feet and then on to the bed, where she sank weakly back against the pillows. She felt sick and giddy and her head was beginning to throb; more than anything she wanted to be left alone, to think, to try to remember, but first there was the family to be reassured.
“I tripped as I came into the room,” she repeated. “I dropped my candle, and hit my head on something as I fell. It stunned me for a moment, that is all.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, a knock fell upon the half open door, and Ibstone’s voice was heard inquiring as to what was the matter.
“Miss Mallory has had a fall,” Mrs. Mallory replied. “Wait there, if you please. It may be necessary for you to fetch the doctor.” A vehement disclaimer from her eldest daughter interrupted her, and she added urgently: “Dee, are you sure? A fall can be very dangerous.”
“Quite sure, Mama!” Dione forced herself to sit up, gritting her teeth against the way the room spun round her. “Send Ibstone away. I would not dream of having Dr. Barnfield called out at this hour for anything so trivial.”
Mrs. Mallory seemed unconvinced, so Dione raised her own voice, bidding the manservant go back to bed, and after a moment’s hesitation they heard him shuffle away. Dione looked at her mother.
“Truly, Mama, there is no need for a fuss. I feel a trifle bruised and shaken, and my head aches, but all I need is a good night’s sleep.” She became aware of her brother, peering anxiously at her round the bed-curtain, and summoned up a smile. “Go back to bed, Theo love. I’m sorry if I gave you a fright.”
“Yes, you did,” he replied with a hint of reproach. “I thought you were dead.” He seized the hand nearest to him in both his own, squeezing it hard. “I’m glad you’re not, Dee!”
Apparently ashamed of this unmanly betrayal of emotion, he then scurried off to his own room. Edwina, who had picked up and lighted Dione’s candle, followed with the lamp.
“Very well, Dee,” Mrs. Mallory said with a sigh. “I know it is not the least use trying to persuade you, but I insist that you swallow a few drops of laudanum, to calm your nerves and make you sleep. I will go and fetch it, while Cecy helps you to bed.”
It seemed simpler to acquiesce, and Dione was in fact quite glad of her sister’s aid as she undressed. She still felt dizzy, and a large, tender bump was beginning to form on the back of her head, so that even Cecilia’s gentle fingers, unpinning the heavy coil of hair which had probably saved her from more serious injury, made her wince. She swallowed the laudanum without protest, submitted to having her forehead bathed with lavender water, but heaved a sigh of relief when at last her mother and sister withdrew, leaving her to welcome darkness and silence.
Had she really seen that stooping, white-haired figure, or had it been a figment of her imagination, a kind of waking dream? And if she had seen it, who or what was it? Why was it there, and where had it gone? Had she dropped the candle, or had it been dashed from her hand? The questions seemed endless—and unanswerable.
Sir Greydon, about to drive his curricle through the overgrown gateway of Garth House, was obliged to rein in his team to allow another vehicle to emerge. This was Dr. Barnfield’s gig, and after exchanging greetings with its occupant, Greydon said with a frown:
“What brings you here, Barnfield? Has young Theodore been up to his tricks again?”
“No, not the boy. It is Miss Mallory who—!”
“Miss Mallory?” The question was rapped out in a tone which made the doctor blink. “What has happened to her? Is she seriously ill?”
“No, no!” Dr. Barnfield was reassuring, but looked very hard at Sir Greydon as he spoke. “The young lady had a fall last night and struck her head, but fortunately sustained no more serious injury than a few bruises. Mrs. Mallory sent for me this morning without her daughter’s knowledge—and without, I may add, any real need, but she is inclined to be over anxious.”
“You are certain there is no cause for anxiety?”
“None whatsoever. Miss Mallory assures me—and I am prepared to believe her—that she is very rarely ill, and that a great deal of fuss had been made over very little. In fact, it was only with the greatest difficulty that I dissuaded her from undertaking whatever household business she had in mind for today.” He hesitated, cast another searching glance at the younger man from beneath bushy grey eyebrows, and then added bluntly: “However, I am of the opinion, Sir Greydon, that Miss Mallory is troubled, though for what reason I do not know. She did not see fit to confide in me.”
Their eyes met; a look of understanding passed between them; Sir Greydon nodded.
“I am obliged to you, Barnfield. I will go and pay my respects to the ladies.”
With a brief word of farewell he drove behind the doctor’s gig and disappeared into the green tunnel of the drive, leaving Dr. Barnfield to go on his way in a very thoughtful frame of mind.
The front door of Garth House stood open to the warm summer day, and Cecilia, who chanced to be in the hall, greeted Sir Greydon with a shy smile, and the information that Mama and Dione were in the parlor. She led the way across the hall and opened the door, saying in her soft voice:
“Sir Greydon is here, Mama.”
Mrs. Mallory exclaimed and rose to her feet, setting aside her seemingly interminable sewing, and gesturing to Dione, who was sitting in a big armchair by the window, to remain where she was. Sir Greydon shook hands with the elder lady and then turned to the younger, saying in a rallying tone but with a searching look:
“What is this I hear, Miss Mallory? I met Barnfield at the gate, and he told me that you have suffered an accident.”
“Oh, the stupidest thing!” she replied lightly, shaking hands with him. “I was careless enough to trip as I went into my bedroom last night. I am ashamed to say that I created such a commotion that the whole household was awakened—for I had sat up late working on my accounts, and everyone else was in bed and asleep.”
“What a grossly unfair reward for diligence,” he said with a smile,
thinking as he spoke that Barnfield was right. There was some trouble lurking in her eyes, though, as he had observed with satisfaction, this had been replaced for a moment by a look of relief when Cecilia announced his arrival. “Barnfield spoke of a blow on the head. Are you sure you are well enough to be downstairs today?”
“Precisely what I said to her, Sir Greydon,” Mrs. Mallory interjected triumphantly. “Such an accident is bound to be a severe shock to the nerves, and she would be far better laid down upon her bed, in a darkened room.”
“I can imagine nothing, Mama, which would more certainly provoke a fit of the dismals,” Dione retorted, laughing. She looked up at Sir Greydon, this time with an unmistakable entreaty in her eyes. “In fact, I was just thinking that what I would really like to do is walk in the garden, for I am sure I would feel a great deal better out-of-doors.”
He smiled understandingly down at her. “An excellent notion! May I offer you the support of my arm, Miss Mallory?”
It was not to be supposed that this would meet with the approval of Mrs. Mallory, who protested that Dione ought not to go out in the heat of the sun; that if she did, she must certainly put on a hat; then, when Dione protested that the thought of placing anything at all upon her head was unbearable, that she must carry her parasol, and sent Cecilia hurrying to fetch it. Dione bore this with commendable patience, assured her anxious parent that if she felt in the least faint she would return immediately to the house, and was at last allowed to go with Sir Greydon out of the parlor and through the hall.
“Thank you,” she said as they stepped out into the sunshine. “I knew I could depend upon you to see that I need to speak privately with you, but I am sorry that Mama fusses so.”
“Her concern is very natural,” he replied. “My only fear was that she might consider it necessary to send one of your sisters with us as chaperone.”
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