“Please don’t say that, for Amabel is my friend—” Henrietta began.
“Friend? After what she’s done? My dear, she is a serpent.”
Henrietta began to sense there was something she should know. “What exactly are you talking about, Nurse?”
The old woman realized she’d said too much, and fell into an embarrassed silence.
“Nurse?”
“It’s of no consequence, my dear.”
“On the contrary. I think it is of considerable consequence. Please tell me.”
“It’s not my place. Miss Henrietta.”
Henrietta was determined. “You’ve gone this far, you may as well tell me. I won’t let the matter lie, of that you may be sure.”
Nurse became quite flustered. “Oh dear, I—I really don’t think—”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, me and my rattle tongue. I—I don’t know anything, my dear, I’ve simply put two and two together from what was said at the breakfast table today. I’m probably wrong anyway.”
“Wrong about what? Please tell me!”
Nurse drew a long breath. “Well, I guessed from what was said this morning that Mrs. Renchester had been more than she should to the gentleman you are to marry.”
Henrietta stared.
“As I say, it’s only a guess, and I’m probably entirely wrong.”
Amabel and George? And Charlotte and Russell knew? Henrietta was shaken. With hindsight it had been clear from the moment Amabel arrived at the abbey that Charlotte’s dislike for her moved on more levels than just old school rivalry. Henrietta closed her eyes. To her shame she knew she could cope with the thought of Amabel and George, but Amabel and Marcus? Oh, that was pain of the deepest kind.
Nurse put an uneasy hand on her arm. “My dear, please forget all about it. It’s clearly long since over, and the marquess is receiving her favors now. Soon you will be Lady Sutherton.”
Henrietta made no response. The future suddenly stretched before her with an awful clarity it never had before, and she knew she couldn’t marry George. It had nothing to do with his infidelity, but was simply the realization that gratitude was no foundation for marriage. She felt nothing for him, and he felt nothing for her. His warning about Marcus had been delivered solely with an eye to her fortune, not out of consideration for her feelings. Henrietta opened her eyes again. Her decision was final, although she wouldn’t say anything to anyone else until she’d had a chance to tell George face-to-face.
Nurse looked anxiously at her. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Henrietta smiled. “Yes, Nurse. Please don’t worry, for you’ve done no harm.”
“Oh, I’m so relieved.”
At that moment the cheering died away and Henrietta saw that the crowd was moving toward the church. The main party had already proceeded inside, except for Marcus, who was descending the steps. She steeled herself for a moment she had been dreading.
He sketched a bow to them both and she inclined her head stiffly. “My lord.”
The formality of the response was not lost upon him. “It’s time to go into the church, but you’ve been talking down here for some time. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” she replied, glancing at the porch, where Amabel had been.
Nurse continued up the steps, but Marcus prevented Henrietta from accompanying her. “We really should talk privately.”
“About what?”
“That must be obvious.”
“No, sir, it isn’t, for in my opinion we have nothing whatsoever to discuss. Let us simply endure the remaining hours we must be beneath the same roof, and in the morning I will gladly depart.” Henrietta pulled away from him, but then halted as she saw Jane and Kit moving among the gravestones. The ghosts were calling a name—Rowley—and she knew they were searching for the spaniel. She glanced around, half expecting to see the little dog gamboling toward them, but there was no sign of it.
Marcus followed her gaze, but saw only the now empty churchyard. “What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Henrietta murmured, watching as the ghosts suddenly saw her looking and hastened away into the lane.
While Jane and Kit searched in vain for him, Rowley was still imprisoned in the dark. A little earlier, the whole world seemed to reverberate with thunder. Everything trembled and boomed, and he’d huddled even farther into his corner. There was more thunder, and then came a voice from beyond the door. “We’re to celebrate too, lads! Orders are to break out some good rum!”
Suddenly a man came in with a lantern. He wore a thick blue woolen jersey and wide white nankeen trousers, and his long hair was pulled back and waxed into a pigtail. The swaying light revealed a storeroom containing, among other things, casks, barrels of gunpowder, ropes, and rolls of heavy canvas. But just as the overjoyed spaniel prepared to make a dash for it, something else crept in behind the man. It was the bogle, which was only too visible to Rowley, but could only be seen by humans if it chose to appear. The horrid manikin retreated into the shadows by a heap of sandbags, and then the man went out with a cask on his shoulder and closed the door again.
Darkness returned, and the bogle sniggered. “I’m after you, doggie, and I’ll get you. No one disturbs my sleep and goes unpunished!”
Chapter Seventeen
Coming face-to-face with Henrietta in the churchyard had delivered a timely reminder to Jane and Kit that they had things to do if they wished to pass through the gates of heaven. They were only too aware that they’d allowed their grief over Rowley to take precedence over all else, and now their time had almost run out. When Henrietta left the abbey in the morning, their chance would be lost until the next time it snowed on New Year’s Day. The hapless wraiths had not given up entirely, however, and that night returned halfheartedly to their task.
It was late evening when they went in search of Henrietta, and found her in the grand saloon. From a dark corner, the ghosts watched the suppressed emotion on her face and wondered what she was thinking. She was the only person there. Marcus and Russell had already gone to their rooms. Charlotte was in the nursery with baby Eleanor, and for some time Amabel had been in the library writing a letter of instructions for the housekeeper at Renchester Park, the Wiltshire estate left to her by her late husband.
Henrietta wore a spangled cranberry silk gown and a simple gold necklace. A fringed gold-and-white cashmere shawl rested around her shoulders. Her face was pale and strained because she had endured an unutterably wretched evening. She was angry with Charlotte and Russell for not telling her about Amabel and George, and angry with Amabel for her treachery. But worse than that by far was having to watch Amabel fawning over Marcus, who made no move to discourage the attentions.
The secret pain was acute. Whatever may or may not have happened with George in the past, it was clearly Marcus now. Henrietta’s feelings were in turmoil and she wanted to strike out at them all. She had been betrayed on all sides, and the hurt was immense.
In the library, Amabel wasn’t writing. Instead she sat by the light of a single candle, mulling over the options that remained for ridding herself of the woman George Sutherton intended to make his bride. Henrietta appeared to possess nine lives, and time was now running out. There only remained tonight and the return journey south in which to succeed; after that the tiresome creature would be at her cousin’s estate, and out of reach for heaven alone knew how long. Something had to be done, something utterly final that would dispose of her once and for all. The means was at hand, and she had shrunk from using it until now because there was a risk that its use might arouse suspicions in others.
Might. What a teasing word that was. Just how great was the likelihood? Enormous? Moderate? Infinitesimal? Amabel’s fingers drummed pensively upon the writing desk, where her reticule lay beside the untouched sheet of vellum before her. A cold smile played briefly upon her lips. Infinitesimal was the word she preferred, and if she was very, very careful, infinitesimal the risk would be
. She got up, extinguished the candle, and left the library.
At that moment Henrietta’s hurt resentment boiled over. She had to confront someone, and Charlotte was the chosen target. Jane and Kit followed. They were still at a loss as to why she was clearly so angry, and also at a loss to know how to make use of this last night. Inspiration failed them, and all they could think of was following her. She picked up a lighted candle from the table at the foot of the stairs, and made her way up to the nursery.
As she went up the staircase, the ghosts were startled to realize they were not alone in following her, for a familiar whiff of sulfur made them turn to see Amabel, a silent shadow in moss-green silk gown. They still did not know why she hated Henrietta sufficiently to try to kill her. They only knew that she was very dangerous indeed, so they lingered until she’d passed, then they followed her as she in turn followed Henrietta. It was a stealthy procession that made its way toward the nursery, where Charlotte cradled Eleanor in her arms and made foolish cooing noises, as new mothers are wont to do. Amabel waited until Henrietta had entered, then tiptoed to press her ear to the door. The ghosts watched uneasily, for they could feel her new resolve and knew that tonight Henrietta was in more peril than she had ever been before.
Firelight flickered in the nursery as Charlotte sat in a hearth-side chair, gazing adoringly at her sleeping daughter. The nurse, Mary Gilthwaite, had withdrawn discreetly into the adjoining room to sort through some of Eleanor’s tiny clothes. Henrietta did not know she was there as she spoke.
“I must talk with you. Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s diamond earrings sparkled as she looked up swiftly. She smiled. “You gave me quite a start. I didn’t hear you come in. If you’ve come to dandle your goddaughter upon your knee, I fear I’m too selfish to part with her.”
“That isn’t why I’ve come.”
Charlotte detected an odd tone in Henrietta’s voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, I fear there is. Charlotte do you recall saying no one could have a better friend than me?” Henrietta asked quietly, placing the lighted candlestick on a table.
“What a strange question. Yes, of course I remember.”
“Then is it not a pity that I can no longer pay you the same compliment?”
Charlotte’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“That you have let me down.”
Charlotte got up, her dismay visible in the dancing light from the hearth. She went to lay the baby gently in the cradle, and then came over to Henrietta. “What is it? What has happened?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about George and Amabel?”
At the door, Amabel’s lips parted, and Jane and Kit looked at each other in astonishment. So jealousy was what lay behind it all! Amabel was intent upon preventing another woman from becoming Sutherton’s wife. Suddenly they understood the conversation in the cloisters on the night of the ball. Amabel was aware that Marcus knew of her affair with Sutherton, and she had been at pains to convince him he was wrong.
Charlotte exhaled slowly. “How did you find out?”
“Nurse correctly interpreted what happened at breakfast this morning, and was unguarded enough to let something drop to me. I made her tell me.”
Charlotte put a quick finger to her lips. Her gray velvet evening gown whispered as she went to the adjoining room. “That will be all for tonight, Mary. You may retire.”
“Very well, my lady.” Mary bobbed a hasty curtsy, and then went through into the room beyond, which was her little bedroom. Charlotte saw that both doors were firmly closed before returning to Henrietta. “Please believe me when I say it was not easy to discover what we did, and then say nothing to you. You are going to marry that mongrel Sutherton, and you insist upon regarding Amabel as a dear friend, so how could Russell and I tell you they were possibly conducting a liaison behind your back?”
“Possibly?”
“The only proof we have is something Russell was told the last time he was in White’s. It was rumor, no more, but it seemed very firmly founded.”
“The gist being that George and Amabel are lovers?”
“Yes. Henrietta, if there is any truth in all this, they are the ones you should confront, not me.”
Henrietta thought for a moment, and then exhaled slowly. “I know. I suppose I’m taking the coward’s way out by picking on you instead.”
“Henrietta, now you’ve found out about Amabel and George, I don’t understand how you haven’t scratched out her eyes.”
Henrietta glanced away. She cared very much that Amabel was now with Marcus, but she didn’t care at all if Amabel had been between the sheets with George. The marriage wasn’t going to take place anymore, and that was that. She’d felt angry and betrayed by the secrecy, not by any involvement of the heart. It was Marcus who had her heart. .. She thrust the train of thought aside. “Charlotte, what exactly did Russell hear in London?”
“Only what I’ve already said. He made a few inquiries, but could dig no deeper. And please spare me a heated defense of Amabel’s virtues, for I believe that deep down you know she is a devious, designing chienne. She and Sutherton are well matched.”
Henrietta moved away to the fireplace, where the spangles on her gown caught the light almost as brightly as Charlotte’s diamonds. For a long moment she stood looking thoughtfully down at the flames, and then glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re quite right, I do know that Amabel isn’t an angel.”
“Well, at least you admit it at last. Anyway, whatever may or may not have gone on with Sutherton in the past, it must be over now, for Marcus appears to be the latest apple of her designing eye.”
At the door, Jane and Kit shook their heads. Oh, no, the affair with Sutherton certainly wasn’t over, nor was there now a liaison of any kind with Marcus, just some artful deception on Amabel’s part. She had to stay close to Henrietta if she was to succeed in her murderous plans, and an unwelcome denouement might result in untimely expulsion from the abbey. She was therefore intent upon fooling not only Marcus, but also Charlotte and Russell. Fearing the former might tell, and not realizing the latter already knew but had decided not to speak of it, she set out to cast doubt on any unwelcome revelations by pretending to leave Marcus’ room that morning at a time when she knew Russell would see her. The puzzled ghosts had seen her just standing there with a hand on Marcus’ door, as if she had just emerged, and hadn’t understood. Now all was clear.
In the nursery, Henrietta kept a brave face. “Until today, I had no idea Amabel felt anything for Marcus.”
There was a faint noise at the door, and Charlotte turned sharply. “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Charlotte hurried to fling the door open. There was no one there, but the candles just along the passage toward the staircase fluttered as if someone had just hastened past. Charlotte shivered, but then told herself that the flames were only moving because of the many drafts that crept through the abbey. She went back into the nursery. “Where were we?”
“I’d just said I had no idea Amabel felt anything for Marcus.” Henrietta swallowed. “Charlotte, I still have feelings for him too. In fact, I’m still hopelessly in love with him,” she confessed quietly.
“Oh, good Lord.” Charlotte was so shaken she had to sit down.
Henrietta continued. “I’ve loved him all along, and I think I always will.”
“And you still intend to marry Sutherton?”
Henrietta hesitated, and then shook her head. “No, I’ve decided I can’t. When Nurse told me what she’d guessed about Amabel and him, I realized I couldn’t go through with it. I was suddenly faced with exactly how little regard he had for me. I wasn’t going to say anything until I’d had a chance to speak to him, but since you ask me a direct question ...”
Charlotte breathed out with relief. “Oh, thank goodness, for I vow that if you’d proceeded, you would have been the most wretched bride on earth. But Henrietta, if Marcus is the one you
love, you mustn’t give up without a fight!”
“He’s with Amabel now,” Henrietta reminded her. “Besides, mine is not only an unrequited love, it’s also a very ill-advised one. I told you why he pursued me in the first place, so I know his ardency was false.”
“I still cannot believe he would do such a thing. Not Marcus, and not for a wager.”
“Well, he did.” Henrietta gave a sad smile, then picked up the candlestick once more and left the nursery.
Chapter Eighteen
The trembling of the candles Charlotte had seen in the passage had been caused when Amabel ran to the nearest passage to hide. It was the passage that led to Marcus’ room, and as the nursery door was flung open, she’d just drawn back out of sight in a cold window embrasure behind some heavy arras curtains. The window happened to be the very one where, on the night of the ball, she had hidden Henrietta’s betrothal ring on the pelmet. Kit slipped through the curtains to stand with her, but Jane had remained to eavesdrop upon Henrietta and Charlotte. After a few moments the nursery door closed again, and Kit watched as Amabel exhaled with relief. He wished he could read her mind. Whatever it was, the insidious odor of sulfur was all around.
Amabel leaned her head back against the cold glass. She was still shaken to realize that Charlotte and Russell had known all along about her affair with George, and upset too that Henrietta had now found out. Everyone knew, but only Marcus had ever mentioned it. Not that he was sure of his facts anymore. Amabel smiled a little, but then the smile faded. Henrietta’s discovery did not seem to have made any difference, for she hadn’t indicated any intention to withdraw from the match. Which meant that nothing had changed; tonight the future Lady Sutherton had to breathe her last.
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