by Sandra Heath
"You have?" The pistols were lowered, but Oliver and Ralph still looked fit to expire of fright.
Sir Jocelyn came to put a tactful arm around Sigismund's pudgy shoulders. "Yes, we have," he said urbanely, "but our notion of suitable punishment differs a little from yours. Allow me to explain." He whispered what he had said to Greville and Rupert in the vestibule, and the held up the blanket bundle.
Sigismund's rage began to disappear, and his face lit up with a broad grin. "By gad, I like it!" he declared.
Sir Jocelyn cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "I haven't quite finished, sir. You see, we thought we would impose our victims upon the soiree musicale at Garsington House." He held his breath, wondering what the reaction would be. To his huge relief, Sigismund gave a grunt of approval.
"I see nothing wrong in that! I've been wriggling like a damned worm on a hook for years now because I'm expected to play that damned hautbois."
"You have?" Sir Jocelyn said in surprise, for he had always believed Sigismund to be a dedicated musician.
"Yes. That's why I came here this evening. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I'm glad I did because they'll be chasing around like headless chickens wondering where I am."
"I had no idea," Sir Jocelyn murmured.
"To be honest, I've always wanted to play Sybil's harp, but the old pater and mater won't have it. They think I'll look like a prize daisy."
Sir Jocelyn choked back his laughter. "Indeed? How very fortunate," he managed to say.
Sigismund smiled again. "So it will serve them right if we, er, brighten things up a little, eh? Right, I'll take my dear brother-in-law, and leave you three to toss a coin for March!"
Greville insisted upon the right to deal with Oliver, and soon he and Sigismund went to work. Never had there been two less gentle masseurs, and never had there been two more cowardly victims. Oliver and Ralph squealed and yelled as the rough flannel showed no mercy to their recently steamed bodies. The squeals became howls when Sir Jocelyn poured the odoriferous cologne in around their necks, and the rubbing began all over again.
The craven pair were permitted out of the tents after five minutes, but if they thought they would be permitted to don their own clothes again, they were in error. Soon Oliver was togged in Feste's bell-bedecked hat, Malvolio's yellow stockings, and a towel to hide his modesty, and Ralph wore the knee-length hose and Henry VIII codpiece. They both looked utterly ridiculous, and Sigismund delightedly likened their aroma to that of a Newgate privy. Then, when he had dressed again, they all went downstairs.
The sheikh's eyes widened as he saw the strange procession, and two of his assistants sniggered from a doorway as Oliver and Ralph were herded out into the icy night. There some fly-by-nights were engaged, and the prisoners conveyed to Garsington House, each with a pistol to his head to deter him from any notion of escape.
Astonished footmen did not dare to refuse entry, and Oliver's bells jingled foolishly as he shuffled unwillingly across the gleaming entrance hall toward the double doors of the music room, from beyond which issued the twanging of Sybil's harp as she sang "Where the bee thuckth, there thuck I." Her racket bore off as Sigismund flung the doors open and strode in. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for a very different kind of entertainment!" he announced, and everyone turned with gasps as Greville and Rupert pushed Oliver and Ralph into the glittering room.
"Dance, my good morris men," Greville breathed, and prodded Oliver warningly in the back. Oliver hastily began to leap about, and Ralph followed suit.
Lord and Lady Garsington gaped, Sybil looked as if she needed to hold on to the harp for support, and Sophia slipped from her chair in a dead faint. The rest of the room fell about, helpless with laughter.
Chapter 33
As the Garsingtons' soire disintegrated into farce, Megan was experiencing a very different world. She could see Rollo, and he was as real as any living man as she stood next to him by the porch of St. Nicholas's. The wind was blustery, and there wasn't any snow. Nor were there any outside steps up to the church galleries, and when she looked at some of the old tombstones, they seemed oddly new and freshly inscribed. She glanced toward Brighton, and saw with a start that it had shrunk. It was without the Marine Pavilion and the fine new streets, and was just a small fishing village that ended where the wide-open grass of the Steine began. The church bell was tolling, and a funeral procession was wending its slow way from the lychgate. The black-draped coffin was carried shoulder high by four men, and a long column of mourners followed behind it, many of them sobbing unashamedly. Like Rollo, all were dressed in the fashion of the mid-seventeenth century.
Rollo's cheeks were wet with tears. He wore black plumes in his hat, black ribbons around his elbows, and black lace upon his clothes. He was very tall and handsome, and his grief was palpable as he removed his left glove to kiss the betrothal ring that shone on his fourth finger. Then he donned the glove again and took his place immediately behind the coffin as the procession entered the church. Megan knew why the old tombstones no longer seemed old, for this was Christmas Day, 1666, and the funeral was Belle Bevington's.
She lingered at the door to watch the simple service. Tribute was paid to Brightelmston's most famous daughter, whose beauty and talent was lost to the world forever. She had been trapped as the great fire of London burned all around, and although Rollo had rescued her, she had never recovered. Now she had come home to be laid to rest in the church where she and Rollo were to have been married. The congregation watched as the coffin was lowered beneath the flagstones, then the bell tolled again as everyone except Rollo left the church.
When the church was empty, he again removed his glove in order to take a sprig of mistletoe from inside his coat. Carefully he dropped it down the side of the coffin, where it would not be seen by the men who would come shortly to complete the burial. "For thee, my beloved, in memory of our first kiss," he said softly, the words carrying in spite of the booming of the bell. It was then that Megan saw his betrothal ring had gone.
As he went to don his glove again, something small and golden fell into the grave, and she heard it strike the carved oak. He walked from the church, passing right by her, but although she tried to tell him what had happened, no words would come. She followed him outside, and saw him hurry after the other mourners, who had now gone out through the lychgate and were on their way down the old original road into the town. Open grass, trees, and bushes had replaced the streets and houses of modern Brighton, and where Church Street would one day be, there was only a narrow deserted path that led toward the distant Steine. As she looked, a gang of footpads fell upon Rollo. Some of the mourners ran back to help, but the footpads had already scattered.
She could see Rollo lying dazed on the ground, but suddenly his voice spoke in her ear. "Mistress Megan, Belle and I vowed never to remove our betrothal bands, not even in death. I did not know I had lost mine in the church, believing it to have been stolen by the thieves. Without the ring, my vow was broken, condemning me to a lonely everlasting unless the ring be placed on my finger again. Only now that I have found Lady Evangeline can I be saved. She is my beloved's descendant, blood of her blood, and when she gives me the ring, all will be well once more.
Because Sir Greville hath requested it, she hath promised to go to St. Nicholas's before the end of Christmas Day. When she enters the church, I will receive my redemption."
Everything faded, and there was only the warm coziness of the bed in the blue chamber. Megan felt pleasantly drowsy. Someone was holding her hand. "Canst thou hear me, mistress?"
"Master Witherspoon?"
"Indeed so, sweet lady. How dost thou feel now?"
"Feel?" Her eyes remained closed, but her brows drew together. What a strange question to ask, she thought. She was quite all right; he was the one who had been set upon by footpads.
"I think thou dost not recall what thy vile cousin did to thee."
Memory returned with a rush, and with a gasp she opened her eye
s. Firelight danced in the hearth, and a candle glowed on the little table, where the mistletoe and book still lay. She could see Rollo sitting on the edge of the bed as he held her hand, but he was only faint again now, not clear and strong as he had been in 1666. "Why is it dark?" she asked. "How long have I been in bed like this?"
"It is almost midnight and still Sunday, mistress. Laudanum has been administered by a strange eastern fellow, and thou hast been asleep since thy encounter with the maggot March at the summerhouse. But we are all assured that thou wilt be as fit as a fiddle in a day or so." He hesitated. "Megan, dost thou recall anything that happened during thy sleep?"
"Yes. I saw Belle's funeral and what happened to your wedding ring," she replied.
"Even if Sir Greville had not told Lady Evangeline she must go to the church, I would still have shown thee my story, for I wish it to be known. I have not broken any rules, Mistress Megan, for I have already told thee that all shades are at liberty to speak to those who are unconscious. On Christmas Day I will be reunited with my beloved Belle."
"I pray so, Master Witherspoon."
"Rollo, please, for I have been most forward with thy given name."
She smiled, but then remembered the locket, and her father's likeness. "Rollo, Lady Evangeline keeps a portrait of my father in her locket…"
"Indeed so, Megan. She hath confessed that she loved thy sire greatly, but bowed to her own father's wishes and ended the matter."
Megan's eyes cleared with relief. "So it was over before my parents were married?"
"Oh, certes, Megan, thou must not fear otherwise! There was nothing there should not have been; thy sire did not forget his marriage vows, any more than I have forgotten my vow to my beloved Belle. 'Twas enduring love that drove Lady Evangeline to seek thee out when she learned thy parents had both passed on so cruelly, and thy beastly kinsman had ejected thee without a groat to thy name. She wished to take thee into her home as the child she had never had, but feared thy resentment at such presumptuousness.''
"How could I possibly resent someone who has been so very kind to me? Someone who brought Sir Greville into my life…"
"Ah, yes, Sir Greville." The specter cleared his throat. "That stout fellow is in a veritable lather of anxiety over you. He loves thee dearly, Megan, and hath much to tell thee concerning the exceedingly appropriate humiliation that is now the lot of thy cousin and thy other tormentor, Ralph Strickland."
Megan stared up at him. "Ralph Strickland? I-I don't understand…"
Rollo got up from the bed. "Sir Greville should tell thee all himself. I will see that he comes directly." He left her.
A few moments later Greville came quickly into the room. He paused for a second or so in the doorway, his anxious eyes resting upon her as if he had feared never to see her again. Then he came to sit on the bed, in order to take her hands, but she sat up to put her arms around his neck, and he held her close.
"Oh, my dearest, dearest Megan, I love you so very much," he whispered, sinking his fingers sensuously into her hair.
"And I love you, Greville, with all my heart," she whispered back.
His arms tightened around her.
Chapter 34
Carol singers came to the door of Radcliffe House on Christmas Eve. Their faces were rosy in the light from their lanterns as they sang "Deck the halls with boughs of holly." More snow had fallen since Sunday, and snowflakes drifted in through the open door. Mrs. Fosdyke had baked spiced biscuits and prepared a silver bowl of mulled wine in which floated clove-pricked oranges, and all the servants were present, except Edward, who had been summarily dismissed the moment Evangeline was acquainted with his dealings with Oliver. Evangeline stood with Sir Jocelyn at the foot of the stairs, and Rupert with Chloe, but of Greville and Megan there was no sign because they were standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
It was the first time Megan had been allowed out of bed, and Evangeline had forbidden her to come down. She was in her nightgown, with Evangeline's capacious red plaid shawl over her shoulders and Greville's steadying arm around her waist. Her hair was unpinned, and there was little color in her cheeks, because the effects of the sheikh's laudanum had not quite worn off, but otherwise she was on the mend. If anyone had told her only a week ago that she would be so happy by Christmas Eve, she would have branded them quite mad. But there was bliss in her heart now, and a contentment that she had never dreamed would be hers again. It was so good to have Greville's arm around her, and to know that he loved her as she loved him.
Suddenly he plucked some mistletoe from the greenery twined over the banisters, and held it above her head.
"A kiss, my darling," he whispered, and she raised her lips to his just as the carol singing ended and applause broke out in the hall below.
Rollo watched them from the shadows, and smiled. " 'It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho and a hey nonino…' " he murmured, then sighed. "Oh, Belle, Belle, could it be that by this time tomorrow thou wilt be in these aching arms once more? I pray it be so. I pray it hard indeed." Turning, he walked away, and Megan drew back from Greville's lips as she heard the spectral footsteps.
It was Christmas Day, the sun was shining, and Yuletide greetings were on everyone's lips as the jubilant bells of St. Nicholas's rang out as permitted on this one day of the year, for on every other day the church bells of England were a warning of French invasion. The congregation dispersed at the end of morning service.
As the worshippers departed, the small party from Radcliffe House-Evangeline, Greville, Megan, and Rollo-waited in the carriage in Church Street. Rollo was detectable only by the indentation he made in the seat, and he was all of a fidget because the moment he had been seeking for so long had arrived at last. Evangeline was stylish in emerald-green, and Greville wore his greatcoat. Megan was snug in her new cloak, her feet warmed by a heated brick wrapped in cloth, her hands plunged deep into a cozy muff. She had a little more color today, and felt much better.
The bells continued to peal for ten long minutes, but then fell silent, and as the bell ringers left as well, everyone alighted from the carriage. The church was quiet and so cold that their breath was clearly visible as Greville led them down the aisle toward Belle Bevington's memorial. But when they were only a third of the way, everything suddenly went dark, as if the sun had been extinguished. Evangeline's breath caught uneasily as the dim light of an old-fashioned horn lantern glimmered from behind them, and they turned to see Rollo approaching. He was as clear and real as he had been in Megan's dream.
They all parted instinctively for him to pass, and then they saw Belle. She held an oval vizard mask to her face, and wore a chestnut velvet gown with a divided skirt that revealed a richly laced pink brocade petticoat beneath. Her hair was very dark, and worn in a knot on top of her head, with wispy tendrils around her face and long ringlets over her ears. Three rows of pearls adorned her throat, and diamonds flashed on her fingers as she lowered the vizard to reveal her breathtakingly beautiful face. Her eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and there was a small black butterfly patch at the corner of her mouth. Her expression was adoring as she held out her cupped hand to Rollo. In her palm lay the lost betrothal ring. He put the lantern on the floor, then took the ring and slipped it on his finger. Belle stepped into his arms, and as their lips met once more the sunlight of Christmas Day 1806 returned. The ghosts had gone, but the lantern remained where Rollo had left it.
Evangeline's cheeks were wet with tears, and she shook her head as Greville went to her. "No, leave me. I'll be all right, these are tears of happiness. I-I’ll just walk on my own in the churchyard for a while, if you don't mind." She bent to retrieve the lantern, then left the church.
Greville turned to Megan. "So, in the words of the Bard, All's Well that Ends Well."
"Yes."
He glanced toward his mother's tomb. "Not all love stories have ended happily in this church," he said softly.
"Ours will," Megan replied, then reached out
for his hand. "Come, there's something we must do now."
"Do?"
She caught his hand and led him to the altar. There she took a tiny sprig of mistletoe from inside her muff, and gave it to him. It is our tradition now," she said, and reached over to put it in the secret place.
Greville smiled. "And will you still wish to do that when you are a titled lady?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes widened. "Titled lady?"
"I wish you to be my Lady Seton, Megan. Do you accept?"
"Yes, oh, yes," she whispered, and their lips came together in the sort of Christmas kiss that had no business taking place in such a hallowed place.
Rollo's voice sounded distantly. " 'Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more…' "
Belle's answering laughter, kittenish, provocative, echoed faintly around the ancient stonework, then disappeared.
Postscript
The 1806 production of Twelfth Night was a resounding success. It was universally agreed that there had never been a finer Malvolio than Sir Greville Seton, and that Evangeline's phantasmagoric effects were wonderful indeed. Mind you, there was a slight disturbance at one point when several people in the audience cried out that they could see the ghostly and entirely incongruous figures of a Restoration lady and gentleman strolling hand in hand across the stage. Evangeline merely pointed out that her transparencies must have gotten mixed up somehow.
At St. Nicholas's church on St. Valentine's Day 1807, Megan became Lady Seton and Chloe became Lady Rupert Radcliffe. It was a wonderfully happy occasion that was made very grand indeed by the attendance of the Prince of Wales, who had come to Brighton especially to formalize the purchase of Radcliffe House. Evangeline and Sir Jocelyn had their own nuptials planned for May Day, which just happened to be Evangeline's birthday.