Salt Redux

by Lucinda Brant

  Merry was about to do as she was told when Lady Caroline appeared in the doorway.

  “Diana? Merry? What is going on here? What’s happened to Ned? Why have you got Ned’s monkey?”

  Merry was so happy to see her cousin Caroline that she did not to do as her mother ordered. Instead, she burst into tears of relief and ran into her cousin’s open arms.

  “We were drawing a picture,” Merry explained tearfully. “We didn’t mean to be such a long time. Just one picture and then we were returning to the tennis court. Promise.”

  Caroline gave Merry a warm hug. It wasn’t from Merry she wanted answers, and with an arm about Merry, she came further into the playroom with every intention of picking up Ned, who was now sobbing, great aching sobs that stopped his breath.

  Diana crossed in front of her, blocking access to the boy.

  “I will deal with him, if you please, Caroline,” Diana St. John said at her imperious best.

  Caroline gaped at her but made a quick recover.

  “You will do no such thing! Ned doesn’t know you from soap! Truth told it was seeing you in that ridiculous ruff that scared him witless. Now stand aside!”

  Diana did not move; Caroline took a step closer.

  “Diana? Caroline? May I be of assistance?”

  It was Sir Antony and he tried to keep the timbre of his voice neutral and light.

  “Uncle Tony!”

  Merry broke from Caroline and ran up to Sir Antony and threw her arms around him, cheek pressed to the front of his waistcoat. “I’m so happy you are home. So very happy.”

  Sir Antony hugged his niece. “Merry? Or is it a pageboy who dares to call me uncle?” he teased but kissed the top of her head. “I’m so very pleased to be home, too,” he said quietly. Before Merry could reply, he said to Caroline, “My lady, it’s time Merry and Ned were returned to the tennis court.”

  “I was just about to—”

  “If you would just pick up Ned and bring him over to me,” Sir Antony said in a soothing voice.

  Caroline frowned, a quick look at Diana and then back at Sir Antony. It was in that small hesitant frown that Diana saw her chance. She flung the toy monkey away, swooped on the sobbing boy and scooped him up.

  “Caroline! Come here!” Sir Antony demanded stridently, and when Caroline did as he ordered he put Merry into her care. “Take Merry away from here—now.”

  “I don’t understand—Tom?”

  “Please, do as I ask,” Sir Antony demanded, and on hearing Tom’s name, he swiveled on a foot to say to him, “I’ll deal with this. Take Caro and Merry away.”

  Tom Allenby did not hesitate. With a nod to Sir Antony, he took Merry by the hand, put an arm about Caroline and ushered them both from the room before Caroline had a chance to even turn and dispute Sir Antony’s directive.

  Caroline’s hesitant frown, Sir Antony’s demand, Tom turning up in the playroom and then taking Merry and Caroline away, all happened within seconds of Diana snatching Ned. What she intended to do with him, Sir Antony had no idea. All he did know was that his sister was not sane, and thus anything was possible. With Caroline and Merry out of the away he could now concentrate on freeing the little boy.

  “Shall I pick up the monkey?” he asked, slowly crossing the room to the little table scattered with drawings and paper, where the toy monkey had landed, sprawled across the back of one of the overbalanced little chairs.

  With both arms holding tight to the sobbing boy, Diana backed away from her brother, thoughts racing as to what she could do now, with her plans in disarray. It was all the fault of her stupid daughter, and her interfering redheaded cousin with her green eyes that had always looked at her with suspicion, and reminded her of someone she had once known but could not now remember. If she could just get the boy outside, to the gardens, to the garden gate… Mrs. Smith was waiting for her… If only the brat would stop his blubbering… All those years planning her return to Society… All those hours dreaming how it had been and would be again with Salt taking her advice and guidance… Dreaming of his wretched family and that skinny whore dead… Her plans could not end here. Not now. Not when she was so close to having them fulfilled.

  “Ned? Ned, here is your monkey,” Sir Antony said soothingly, holding out the cloth toy, extending his arm just far enough to show the boy his toy but not so close that Diana could snatch the toy from him. “Lady St. John found your monkey. Did you not, my lady?”

  Diana nodded. “That’s right. I found it. He can have it if he stops crying like a baby.”

  Sir Antony nodded as if he agreed with her and did not move any closer because if Diana took another step back she risked setting her petticoats aflame, she was that close to the fireplace. He went down on his haunches so the little boy could see him clearly. Ned was now whimpering, hands hanging loose but eyes shut tight.

  “What’s that you say, Monkey?” Sir Antony said, holding the cloth monkey to his ear. He saw Ned open one eye, and pretended to have a conversation with the toy, as he had done with his niece and nephew’s toys, when they were about Ned’s age. They had thought it a great joke and laughed and laughed to see their Uncle Tony talk to their toys who never said a word in reply. “You wish Ned to stop crying so you could say hello? Well, we all wish that, Monkey.” He put the Monkey to his ear again. “What’s that? You think Ned is crying with happiness to see you? Truly? Well I don’t know about that—”

  “You are making yourself ridiculous!” Diana spat out. “That rag can’t speak or hear—”

  “He can! He can! He wants Ned!” the boy shouted, suddenly animated. “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “Stop it! Stop and be still, you little beast!”

  Sir Antony straightened and stood tall.

  “Diana, put the boy down,” he demanded flatly. “There is no point to this anymore. There is no one waiting to help you outside the garden gate. Mrs. Smith has told me everything and she is now in irons in Bedlam. You are friendless. You are powerless. Your scheming is at an end. Put. Ned. Down.”

  “I don’t believe you! I won’t! You must do as I say or I will—I will—” Diana looked about wildly, the boy slipping as he struggled in her arms. “I will throw him in the fire!”

  “Diana. I will use force. Put. Ned. Down.”

  “MONKEY! I want Monkey!” Ned screamed, flailing in the head monster’s arms, tossing his head from side to side, body twisting this way and that as he tried desperately to free himself.

  Strong little legs released from the confines of his ankle length linen nightshirt that was now bunched up around his waist, he kicked out wildly and kicked out again. He felt the grip on his arms loosen and with one arm finally tugged free he lashed up and out. His fist connected with the head monster. He had thrust his arm back so hard that all of a sudden his other arm was free, too. He was free. He fell through the air and dropped into the waiting arms of the nice man who was friends with Monkey; he remembered seeing him at breakfast when Papa had said rude words out loud and made him laugh.

  He felt safe with the nice man with the kind voice, safe from the head monster and the head monster’s screams and growls. Frightening noises filled the nursery and were so loud and terrible that he scrambled to throw his arms around the nice man’s neck and bury his face in his soft neckcloth. The nice man gave him Monkey to hug and he cuddled it, eyes shut tight, as he was whisked away, out of the nursery and into the passageway, away from the head monster’s piercing screams.

  Half way along the passageway, he was placed in the arms of another. Ned dared to open his eyes and discovered Uncle Tom smiling down at him. Such was his relief to see a most beloved face that he threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. As Uncle Tom carried him away to safety, Ned clutching Monkey’s arm in a tight fist and swinging him against Uncle Toms’ back, he watched the nice man who had rescued him run back into the nursery to do battle with the screaming growling head monster.

  WHEN NED HAD struggled to be free and lashed o
ut, his fist connected with Diana’s face. She was hit so violently between the eyes that she reeled. In shock, she instantly opened her arms and dropped the little boy.

  Disorientated, and in a moment of blindness, she staggered, tripped against the fire screen and fell. With the large heavy ruff a weight about her neck, she could not stop the momentum and she landed in the fireplace, face first, inches from the hot coals in the grate. The ruff broke her fall, but wedged in the grate she could not move and the ruff held fast. The intense heat of the fire began to sear her flesh and she screamed for help. Panicked, she thrashed about, trying to find anchorage within the fireplace to hold firm to pull free. When that failed, one hand tugged at the ruff, fingers frantically grappling with the hook and eye closures, but they would not release and so the ruff remained fixed in place. The more she panicked, the more her fingers fumbled, and still the ruff would not release.

  The heat was now unbearable.

  Her frantic attempts to be free of the ruff and escape the fire fanned the coals into new life, and the waxed paper ruff suddenly ignited. In an instant, a river of flame whipped around the ruff, engulfing her head. The flames leapt and danced and her elaborate coiffure of waxed and pomaded curls was also soon ablaze with the same ferocity. Within seconds the ruff collapsed to ash and Diana’s face dropped into the glowing coals.

  SIR ANTONY rushed back into the nursery to the unbelievably shocking sight of his sister burning alive. Grasping her petticoats he dragged her free of the fireplace, to the carpet, and turned her on her back where her body continued to convulse with pain and shock, arms and legs flailing of their own accord. The sound of air being sucked down a seared throat in an effort to breathe was truly hideous, and her face and hair were still alight. He dashed to the window and with an almighty tug, ripped down a curtain. This he threw over her upper body to extinguish the flame. Just as he did so, her body convulsed one last time, went rigid, and then fell limp and still.

  He removed the curtain to a gruesome sight. The once beautiful face was burned out of all recognition. The fine nose was an indefinable charred blob. Where there had been lips, the flesh was blistered exposing teeth in a final grimace. Both hands were red and blistered. Diana had died a hideous and agonizing death, and he had been powerless to prevent it.

  He held her lifeless hand and wept.

  WHEN HE FINALLY found the strength to cover her corpse with the curtain, he reminded himself that this creature was not his sister. Diana had died a long time ago. Perhaps her mind had been slowly dying of reason since before her marriage to St. John. He did not know, and now it did not matter. This creature was no longer tormented by demons, nor could it inflict torment on others. It was at peace. He was at peace, and certainly the Salt Hendon family could now live in peace. He could not feel sadness or regret at her passing, only in the manner of her death. If he felt anything it was a huge relief, and with relief came renewed hope and optimism for the future. Tomorrow was a new day and a new beginning. The first day of the rest of their lives…

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SIR ANTONY HAD EXPECTED to wake on the first day of the rest of his life brimming with cheerful optimism, but all he felt was the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t particularly cheerful either. After dealing with the immediate aftermath of his sister’s death and all that entailed, the masquerade was over, with only one or two guests taking their leave at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. Thankfully, none of the guests were wise to what had occurred in the nursery and he had decamped to the tennis court to spend the night in one of the gallery boxes on a makeshift bed.

  He reasoned that three hours of restless sleep on a hardened surface could account for his mood. He had slept in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, the red sash of the Imperial Order of St. Anna forgotten about his neck, now wrinkled, he hoped not beyond repair. He removed the sash, straightened his clothes and washed his face in the porcelain bowl with the water from a matching pitcher, put at his disposal by an attentive servant. Leaving off his frock coat, and hearing voices and laughter out on the tennis court, he gingerly poked his head through the netting to the wondrous sight of the Salt Hendon family having a picnic breakfast.

  The net that usually stretched across the court had been removed and in its place on the tiled flooring was a scatter of carpets, and upon these carpets were a scatter of silken cushions, and upon these cushions reclined various family members, helping themselves to the variety of breakfast foods to be found on the platters under silver domed covers. Still dressed in their Turkish masquerade costumes of the night before, the Earl, his Countess, Lady Caroline, Kitty Aldershot, Tom Allenby and Rufus Willis presented as if at an Ottoman banquet. Merry was there, still in her pageboy outfit, and the Earl and Countess’s three children. The baby was nestled in the crook of his father’s arm, and Beth sat in Kitty’s lap giggling at the antics of Boots the pug puppy, as he wrestled the string of a discarded wooden pull toy. Ned was in his nightshirt and silk banyan, running barefoot around the perimeter of the carpets holding Monkey high above his head, as if he were flying a kite, seemingly recovered and unaffected by his frightening ordeal of the night before.

  Making up the complement was the Earl’s secretary Arthur Ellis, and of all the guests to be found at the Earl’s breakfast picnic, Hilary Wraxton. Dressed as a courtier from the time of Charles the First, Sir Antony did not want to hazard a guess what material constituted the poet’s full-bottomed wig of tight curls. He appeared to have an entire black lamb’s wool fleece draped over his head, made all the more glorious sprinkled with tiny bows in all colors of the rainbow.

  “Hey Ho! The macaw has awoken! Come join us while there is still food to be had. Miller. Pour his lordship out a nice hot cup of tea.”

  Sir Antony jumped the barrier at the Earl’s hearty invitation and Lady Caroline scrambled up from her cushion to meet him. She grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek good morning.

  “Please, Caroline, you should not come near me while I am in this deplorable state.” He gratefully accepted the cup of tea a footman offered him and sipped. “Certainly not before I have had the first cup of tea for the day.”

  She dimpled, saying so only he could hear, “Are you telling me that when we are married, we won’t be spending the entire night together?”

  He replaced the teacup on its saucer, an eyebrow raised.

  “You will have to push me out of the marital bed.”

  She smiled sweetly and led him to the breakfast banquet.

  “You needn’t be embarrassed by your whiskers. Salt is thoroughly unpresentable,” she said so all could hear. “He practically has a beard! And I have never seen Tom or Mr. Willis so disheveled. Mr. Wraxton is the only respectable one amongst us. Oh, and Jane. But Jane never looks ruffled. None of us have been to bed, as you can see.”

  Sir Antony had seen. Yet, it had not registered with him that because everyone was still in their masquerade outfits, they had stayed up all night.

  “There seemed little point in retiring for the night when the children were due to wake in a matter of hours,” Jane explained as Sir Antony took his place on a cushion between Caroline and the Earl.

  “So we made a party of it,” Tom added, passing Sir Antony a bowl filled with fruit. “Did we wake you?”

  Sir Antony took an apple, a shake of his head. He noticed then his aunt was not one of the party.

  “Lady Reanay perfectly well…?”

  “Yes. I sent her to bed,” Jane explained. “The physician gave her something to sleep. The—events—of the evening greatly unsettled her…”

  “Booffs! Booffs!” Beth called out, jumping up and down on Kitty Aldershot’s lap, a chubby finger pointing in direction of the pug puppy.

  This considerably lightened the mood, and everyone watched Boots the pug puppy struggle to remove his round head from under one of the domed silver lids. As the pug puppy attempted to back his way out of his dilemma, so the domed lid went with him, which had everyone laughing. In the interval that saw
Lady Caroline rescue the puppy and the footmen fuss with removing the platter, the Earl took the opportunity to have a private word with Sir Antony, who was quietly chomping away at his apple.

  “The local magistrate came to call an hour ago. He is satisfied with Bennetts’—the physician’s—verdict of accidental death. She will be buried without fuss, and quietly—today. Everyone has been informed, Merry too. Tom has offered to fetch Ron from Eton. I suggest a private memorial service in a day or two …”

  Sir Antony nodded, surprised by the constriction in his throat, and not from the apple, that made it impossible for him to speak. The Earl sensed this, and he, too, was overcome with emotion. Taking a moment to find his voice, and clearing his suddenly dry throat, he gave his cousin’s hand a squeeze and said,

  “Antony… Tony, I cannot—I cannot imagine what you went through… What you witnessed… Bennetts told me the extent of her injuries… Horrific. He is of the opinion she probably died of a heart attack, brought on by the shock suffered by such burns. Tom told me the rest… I—Jane and I—what we owe you… You have given us—all of us—a reason to embrace the future…” He gripped his cousin’s shoulder. “I’m so pleased—so very pleased—you’ve come home.”

  Sensing there was a lull in the laughter and activity, the Earl rallied and looked up to find Merry waiting patiently to speak with him. He put out his hand to her. “Dear me, for a moment I mistook you for a junior footman, Merry!”

  “Junior footman?” Sir Antony questioned, entering into the spirit of the Earl’s good-natured teasing. “How many junior footmen do you employ with waist-length hair?”

  When the Earl pretended to think about the question, Merry giggled and said, “Silly Uncle Salt!” She glanced at Sir Antony, and asked quietly, “May I please be permitted to ask Uncle Tony the question about the boxes now?”

  “Ah, yes! The mystery of the boxes! More correctly, the crates that have been blocking up poor Miller’s pantry.” Salt nodded at Merry, who asked her question.