by Sandra Heath
Lady Jane Strickland's only son and heir was a slightly built man whose elegant good looks would have been spoiled by his tiny button of a nose even without his spouse's handiwork. His dark hair was very curly and short, he possessed sensuously full lips, and his green eyes were fringed by long, almost girlish lashes. Dandified clothing was very much to his taste, as witness the blue-and-cream-striped coat he wore beneath his sweeping navy blue cloak, and there was a bright silver buckle on the wide blue band of his tapered top hat. He considered himself a very stylish fellow, and believed that Sophia should be eternally grateful to have such a paragon for a husband. The fact that she was not had always rankled with him, and he chose to use her lack of appreciation as an excuse to philander. Sophia deserved his unfaithfulness!
However, there was very little of the swaggering peacock about him now. He skulked behind the carriage blinds, and kept his head well down as the vehicle drove around the crowded Steine past Garsington House, for it would not have surprised him if-like Sophia-the rest of the family could see through everything as well! At last the coachman reined in at Duchess Place, and Ralph peered cautiously out before alighting. No one he knew was around, so he flung his voluminous cloak around himself and stepped stealthily down. A moment later he had been admitted by Oliver's man, although Oliver himself was not at home.
Hardly had Ralph gone safely inside than there was a cheer from the Steine as Greville drove the sleigh back. Evangeline was now impatient to enjoy it for herself again, but just as she took Megan's place, and Greville was handing the reins to Sir Jocelyn, Evangeline realized her locket was missing. She had reached up to finger it in her usual absentminded way, only to find nothing there. "My locket has gone! Oh, it must have fallen somewhere in the snow!"
Megan put a quick hand upon the other woman's arm. "Lady Evangeline, did you put it on after breakfast?"
"I never take it off."
"But you did this morning, when you went to the summerhouse. I noticed when I glanced out of my window." Evangeline's eyes cleared. "Of course! I must have left it there!"
"Shall I go to look for it?"
Evangeline hesitated, then smiled. "Would you, my dear?"
"Of course." Megan turned and immediately hurried away toward Radcliffe House, the posy of mistletoe still in her hand.
Evangeline watched her go, then turned a little uneasily to Sir Jocelyn. "I pray I remembered to close the locket," she murmured.
"It's too late now," he replied. "Besides, you regret not telling her the truth from the outset, so maybe the time has come to put that right."
"I think the time has come for everything, Jocelyn." Greville glanced curiously from one of them to the other, but said nothing. The fact that Sir Jocelyn was party to the secret, whatever it was, seemed to prove that Megan was right about Evangeline's warm regard for that gentleman. And if Greville himself was any judge, Sir Jocelyn viewed Evangeline in the same light. Lovers were lovers, whatever the generation. The sleigh sprang away again, and Greville turned to look at Megan as she disappeared around the corner of Radcliffe House. The mystery surrounding her was as impenetrable as ever, but his aunt had promised an explanation when they all returned to the house, and he knew she would abide by that.
As Megan went into Radcliffe House, she did not notice Oliver's curricle emerging from the foot of Church Street. He saw her, however, and carefully maneuvered the curricle to a quiet corner by the remains of Great East Street. A mirthless smile animated his lips as he climbed down and tied the horses to an old railing, then he tugged his top hat on firmly and began to walk toward Radcliffe House. His experiences with flying gravel had slipped his mind, so intent was he upon making Megan suffer for the indignities that had been heaped upon him.
There was no one around as Megan hurried out into the walled garden behind the house. Evangeline had given the servants time off to go out in the snow, and those few who remained were sitting warmly around the kitchen fire with cups of tea. Rollo was still around, however, for he had never liked snow. He was in the theater, making holly and mistletoe berries dance in the air, when he heard Megan open the front door. He recognized her footsteps, and came out to speak to her, but she had already disappeared toward the gardens. Rollo was about to follow her snowy footprints when he heard the front door open again, but very stealthily this time. The hairs stirred unpleasantly at the nape of the specter's neck as he watched Oliver slip slyly in. "Beware the ides of March," Rollo breathed, falling in behind as Oliver followed the marks Megan had left on the floor.
Megan had now reached the summerhouse, and was relieved to see the locket lying on the bench. It was open, and as she picked it up she could not fail to see the miniature portrait inside. Her eyes widened with shock, for it was of her father! There was no doubt about it, because the scene painted behind him depicted a very tiny but unmistakable Berengers. Greville's words about Evangeline echoed in her head. "… There was someone once, but he broke her heart… she carries his likeness in her locket…" Shaken to the very core, Megan gazed at the painted face. Her father and Evangeline? But when? While he was still married to her mother? Oh, no, please don't let that be so…
Suddenly someone laid rough hands upon her from behind. Her scream was stopped by a harsh hand, and she was thrust against the side of the summerhouse. "If you think I'm going to let you get away with ruining my life, you're very much mistaken, my dear!" Oliver breathed through gritted teeth.
She was terrified, and bewildered. How could he possibly blame her for what happened? She tried to struggle, but stood no chance against his strength, so she gave up. Perhaps if she pretended to faint…? It was all she could think of, so she went limp in his grasp. His grip relaxed, and she immediately made a dash for it, but the edge of the summerhouse lay in wait. With a scream she lost her footing and fell, striking her head on the step. The mistletoe posy and the locket slipped from her hand. Everything went hazy, then black, and she knew no more as her winter solstice came to a very sudden close indeed.
Oliver neither heard nor saw anything as he stood in frozen shock. She was dead, and the law would judge that he had killed her! He took a hesitant step forward, then panicked as he thought he heard a sound from the house. The ladder still lay by the wall, and he hobbled as fast as his bruises would permit to raise it.
Everything had happened so swiftly that Rollo was caught off guard, but on seeing Oliver making a getaway, the ghost erupted after him across the snowy lawn. "Oh, what hast thou done, March, thou barbarous tick?" he bellowed, then fixed his concentration upon the ladder, which Oliver had now begun to climb as quickly as he could. The ladder swayed like a pendulum, and Oliver gave a shriek and held on for grim death. Rollo concentrated still more, and to Oliver's terror, the ladder began to rise from the ground, still swaying wildly. Higher and higher it went, and an ashen-faced Oliver wrapped his arms and legs tightly around it as he stared down in dread at the garden, where all he could see was Megan lying by the summerhouse. Who was doing this? How were they doing it? He closed his eyes as the world lurched sickeningly from side to side.
Greville's voice called suddenly from inside the house. "Megan?"
Rollo's concentration was interrupted, and the ladder dove to the ground like an unsteady arrow, striking earth on the other side of the wall. Oliver gave a loud wail as he was catapulted through the layer of snow and ice covering some deep muddy water by one of the derelict buildings of Great Eastern Street. The water was so cold that it snatched his breath away, and all he could think of was somehow hauling himself out. For a moment he floundered about, but then his clawing hands closed upon a jagged piece of old floorboard. Panic lent him superhuman strength, and he scrambled out, then hobbled as fast as he could for his curricle. His teeth were chattering as much from terror as the cold, and his face was as white as a sheet as he climbed aboard, then drove like the wind for his lodgings.
Meanwhile Rollo had run to kneel in the snow beside Megan. "Open thy eyes, mistress! Please, I beg of thee!"
he cried.
Greville appeared from the house. "Megan?" he called again, not able to see her lying by the summerhouse because some shrubs obscured the view.
Rollo stood urgently. "Make haste, master! Make haste!" he implored.
The supernatural plea was so intense that it pierced Greville's consciousness. He turned sharply, and glimpsed a fold of Megan's cloak on the snow. With a cry of dismay, he began to run toward her. He was not alone in the house, for Evangeline and Rupert had just returned as well, bringing Chloe and her father with them. They all heard Greville cry out, but Evangeline had heard Rollo's voice as well.
"Oh, my sainted lord!" she breathed, and caught up her skirts to run out into the garden, where Greville was now kneeling beside Megan. Everyone else followed her, and Chloe gave a horrified gasp as she saw Megan.
"Oh, no! Please, no!" she sobbed, and turned tearfully into Rupert's sheltering embrace.
Rollo had been hopping up and down in anguish, but rushed forward when he saw Evangeline. "Oh, lady, lady! Come quickly! Mistress Megan has been killed!"
Greville felt for Megan's pulse. "She's still alive!" he cried.
"Oh, thank God, thank God," Evangeline whispered, leaning weakly on Sir Jocelyn's arm.
Greville lifted Megan from the snow, and gazed down at her pale face for a long moment before raising her head a little so he could put his lips to hers. "Whoever did this will not get away with it, I promise you, my darling. When I have finished with him, he will wish he had never been born," he whispered, then began to carry her into the house.
Rollo was quite overcome to know Megan was alive after all. "She lives? Oh, praise be! Oh, I vow that I will be avenged upon her murderous cousin. He did it! I saw it all!"
Evangeline's lips parted. "Cousin? What do you mean, Master Witherspoon? What cousin?" she demanded as everyone followed Greville toward the house.
Rupert, Chloe, and Sir Jocelyn exchanged dismayed glances, thinking that this was definitely not the time for such things.
Rollo answered Evangeline. "Why, lady, I refer to that spawn of Beelzebub, Master March! He is Mistress Megan's cousin, the very one who threw her penniless from her home!"
Evangeline was astonished. "Mr. March is her cousin?"
Greville turned in the doorway. "Yes, he is," he said calmly, "and if he is the one who did this, I will tear out his evil heart with my bare hands." Then he looked at the other three. "Perhaps you should also know that Master Rollo Witherspoon is very much with us, and is definitely not a figment of Aunt E's imagination."
They all stared at him, Rollo included. Then the ghost murmured, "By all the saints and demons, he knows of me!"
Chapter 31
On entering his lodgings, Oliver was startled to find Ralph waiting for him. The two friends looked bemusedly at each other's appearance. Oliver was taken aback by Ralph's colorful chin, and Ralph was astonished to see Oliver's soaking, muddy clothes, grazed forehead, battered nose, bruised chin, ashen face, and limping walk. To say nothing of the way he trembled from head to toe as if he had just seen a ghost.
"Oliver, what in God's own name has happened to you?" Ralph gasped.
Oliver's man had entered the room with him, intending to divest him of his wet clothes, but now Oliver waved him away. "Give us five minutes," he said.
"Sir." The man withdrew, and closed the door.
Oliver went over to the decanter of cognac and poured himself a very large measure, which he drained in one gulp. Then he poured another, and closed his eyes as he tried to quiet the terror that still pounded through him. The cognac burned its way down his throat, and he began to master himself. He had imagined it all! Yes, of course he had. Ladders were inanimate objects! It was all the fault of Ralph's eastern tincture, a little of which he had found in his valise and had foolishly sampled before going out. What happened to Megan was the fault of the tincture as well. It certainly wasn't his fault…
"What happened?" Ralph asked again as he helped himself to the decanter.
"I might ask the same question of you," Oliver replied, and flung himself on a sofa.
"Sophia happened to me," Ralph said.
"And an overturn in the curricle happened to me," Oliver murmured. "When did you and Sophia arrive?"
"Ah, well, that's a vexing point," Ralph replied. "I'm here, but she isn't. I have decided she needs a little punishment."
"More than the mere fact of being your wife? What can she have done?" Oliver remarked dryly.
Ralph colored a little. "If you must know, it's about that business in Bath. Sophia thinks I pounced upon my dear mama's damned companion!"
"As if you would be guilty of such a heinous crime," Oliver murmured.
"I can't believe I gave her a second glance, for she is a very drab piece."
"A drab piece who just happens to be my cousin," Oliver said.
Ralph stared at him. "Your what?"
"My cousin. Oh, don't fear I will call you out on her behalf, for nothing could be farther from my mind. Indeed, I wish now that you had succeeded in having your way with her, for it is no more than she warrants. The little viper has caused me a great deal of trouble."
"I-I had no idea she was your kinswoman."
"Nor did I at first. When you originally told me about events in Bath, you didn't mention her name. I soon realized, however, when Lady Jane Strickland's former companion turned up here in Brighton, having been employed by Lady Evangeline Radcliffe, that she was in fact my cousin."
Ralph's jaw dropped. "Here in Brighton, you say?"
"I fear so, and doing very nicely, for she appears to have caught the eye of no less a fellow than Sir Greville Seton."
"Seton? But he could have his pick!"
"I know. Quaint, is it not?" Oliver murmured, and shook his glass at Ralph to refill it. "However, perhaps it would be prudent of you to keep out of his way for the foreseeable future, because one simply never knows what he might have been told."
Ralph was liberal with the cognac, and then went to the window to look out. "I intend to keep well out of everyone's way while I'm here, not just his. I wish him well of her."
"My sentiments precisely," Oliver said, swirling his cognac and thinking about Megan lying so very still in the snow. He didn't know if she was alive or dead, and now that the cognac was giving him courage, he didn't care. No one had seen him at Radcliffe House, so no one would connect him with what befell Megan Mortimer.
Ralph drew a long breath. "Anyway, I've come here secretly, in the hope that you and I could enjoy an idle Christmas together. Unless, of course, you intend to mope around after that Holcroft wench to the detriment of all else?"
"My association with Chloe Holcroft is very definitely over. She has decided she wishes to be Lady Rupert Radcliffe after all."
Ralph was pleased to hear it. "So you are at a loose end?"
"Er, not quite." Sybil's voice seemed to echo in Oliver's head. Cooee, cooee…!
"There is someone new?"
Oliver got up. "In a manner of speaking. Oh, I'll tell you by and by, I'm not in the mood to stomach talking about her now.".
Ralph looked at him in surprise, but said nothing more.
Oliver grinned suddenly. "I have an excellent notion to cheer you up. What do you say to a little visit to Lewes, followed by a shampoo at Mahomed's Baths?"
"I'd say it sounds like an excellent notion."
"Good. I'll clean up and change now, then we can leave immediately. I'll have my man go around to the baths to see that they expect us later."
Fifteen minutes after that, they set off for Lewes in the curricle.
More than an hour had passed, and Megan lay very still in her bed. Her eyes were closed, and her nut-brown hair was brushed loose over the lavender-scented pillow. A footman had earlier been sent to those same baths that Oliver and Ralph later intended to grace with their dubious presence.
Sheikh Deen Mahomed was renowned for his skills with medicine because he had trained as a surgeon with the Ea
st India Company, and he hurried to Radcliffe House the moment the message arrived. He was a short, dark-skinned, dark-eyed man of fifty-seven, who always wore an embroidered blue satin robe, sleeveless emerald velvet coat, and golden turban. After attending to the wound at the back of Megan's head, he administered laudanum to make her more comfortable, and then declared that nothing more could be done except to wait. He was hopeful, however, and reassured everyone that he did not think Megan had come to any lasting harm.
Only when this had been announced did Greville leave to find Oliver, intending to exact full retribution for what had been done. He refused to permit either Rupert or Sir Jocelyn to accompany him, for this was something he needed to do alone. A chilling fury beset him as he strode through the snow in the fading afternoon light. The Steine was almost deserted now, except for a lamplighter and his boy going about their business, and a post chaise that had just arrived outside Garsington House. Tonight was the occasion of the soiree musicale, and the sound of Sigismund's hautbois could be heard because the door of the house stood open, the occupant of the post chaise having clearly just gone inside.
Suddenly Sybil's shrill voice shuddered out on to the quiet Steine. "Cooee, Mama! Come quickly! And you, Thigithmund!"