The Folly at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  Mrs. Royce appeared with a man at her side. “Ah, Miss Ashley, I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Johnson, Falconbridge’s butler. He has returned from a short absence.”

  Vanessa smiled. “How do you do, Mr. Johnson?”

  He bowed, revealing a round bald patch on the crown of his head. “Glad to meet you, Miss Ashley.”

  Vanessa smiled in greeting. Her first thought was that his butler’s attire looked incongruous. His black tailcoat strained across massive shoulders and muscled arms. There was a gleaming expanse of white shirtfront beneath his waistcoat and a small white bow tie perched below his thick neck. He looked more like a pugilist than a butler, and might have been in his younger days. Her second thought was that she liked his roguish smile.

  “You must defer to Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Royce said, patting her white lace cap.

  “I’m not an ogre, Miss Ashley.” Mr. Johnson smiled, his eyes kindly. “Any problems you may have, please seek me out.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnson. I appreciate it.”

  When Vanessa asked Mrs. Royce if she could assist in any way, the housekeeper nodded her approval. She suggested she give a final polish to the silver tureens.

  Vanessa sat at a long scrubbed table covered in serving dishes and trays and took up the cloth. She admired the ornate tureen and rubbed hard at it until her distorted visage stared back at her. “Is there a reason for this occasion?” she asked the older woman who was inspecting the linen napkins Dorcas had folded into a clever arrangement.

  “It’s a subscription ball. His lordship seeks funding for his next expedition to the Amazon.” Mrs. Royce handed a napkin back to the maid. “This one won’t do.” She removed a key from her belt. “Unlock the linen cupboard and find another to replace it. Make sure you lock it again, girl. And bring the key back to me.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Royce.” Dorcas darted away.

  A business enterprise, yet a social one too, Vanessa thought. Surely, he would wish to remarry? For Blythe’s sake, if not his own.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Molly turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, a grey tabby lapping milk in a saucer near her feet. “I thought ’is lordship might announce ’is engagement to Miss Patterson,” she said. “They danced together more than once at the Patterson ball. I know because my cousin is under-butler in that household.”

  Mrs. Royce’s brow furrowed. “Hush, girl, have you no discretion?” she said sternly. “I won’t have idle gossip in this house.”

  Molly’s face went crimson, and she turned back to the pot. She shrugged defiantly as Mrs. Royce left the room.

  Vanessa stroked the cloth over a ladle. So, Miss Patterson was the lady in question. It was of no consequence. Her only interest in such things was her concern for Blythe.

  “He’s quite a lark, that Mr. Johnson,” Dorcas said, returning to the room with the napkin. “You wait until the staff Christmas party. He loves to dance. Fair flattened my toes last time, he did.”

  Vanessa couldn’t visualize Mr. Johnson dancing but looked forward to witnessing it.

  Cook scurried in. “If you let that custard catch on the bottom, Molly, it will be more than your life’s worth. And remove that cat to the stables before I measure me length!”

  When she could contribute nothing more, Vanessa wished the staff a pleasant evening and left. She met Blythe in the passage, just as Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson emerged from the direction of the butler’s pantry. Mrs. Royce appeared unusually flustered.

  Blythe’s eyes lit up. “I’m glad you’re home, Johnson.”

  Johnson’s rugged face split into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Blythe.”

  Vanessa and Blythe climbed the stairs. “You like Mr. Johnson.”

  “Oh yes. I prefer to have him here when Father is away. He looks very strong, doesn’t he? And he’s always calm.”

  “Is that important to you?”

  Blythe considered it. “I suppose it is. You are, too, Miss Ashley. It makes me feel better. I don’t know why.”

  *****

  That evening, Vanessa rested her arms on the windowsill and contemplated the perfect summer’s night. The trees bordering the driveway were dressed with colored lanterns. Strains of a Chopin prelude drifted up from the ballroom.

  Carriages and barouches arrived to deposit beautifully dressed couples at the front door. The ladies’ jewelry sparkled in the lamplight. Chatter and light laughter rose as they stepped inside.

  Vanessa sighed as she pulled the curtains. This grand and exciting life should have been hers. She’d never really missed it until now. Why had her grandfather been so difficult? Her father had been the second son but was to be given a house and income before the falling out. He removed himself completely from society after that. And her mother along with him. She could never bring herself to lay any blame at her father’s door, but he obviously preferred the bohemian life he led.

  The party in full swing, Vanessa hurried along to Blythe’s room to escort her downstairs. She smoothed the full sleeves of her favorite gown, the one her father had described as insipid. He preferred her in bold colors. She liked the jacquard-woven, pale green silk with its leaf pattern. Tiny buttons ran from the high neck to the waist, and the skirts swept back into graceful folds over the strapontin padding her behind. Although it wasn’t an evening gown, wearing her mother’s tiny emerald earrings enhanced the outfit.

  Blythe waited in her figured organdie party dress, a ribbon threaded through her ringlets. “Those earrings suit your green eyes, Miss Ashley.” She came close to examine them, and her sweet breath touched Vanessa’s cheek.

  “What a pretty compliment, thank you. Your dress is lovely. Let’s go down. Cook has promised us an ice.”

  They sat eating their sweet strawberry ices on the terrace, listening to the buzz of conversation and the glorious music in the ballroom.

  Three ladies strolled up from the gardens, exquisite in their gowns of faille, tulle and satin, their hair dressed with jeweled combs and feathers. They made Vanessa aware of how underdressed she was. Once they reached the terrace, they paused.

  “What a pretty child,” the lady in crimson satin commented.

  The one in pastel tulle stepped forward. She had light brown hair and pretty hazel eyes. “This is Blythe, Lord Falconbridge’s daughter. Are you enjoying the evening, my dear?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Patterson,” Blythe said in a quiet voice. She seemed unimpressed by the dainty lady before her.

  Miss Patterson entered the house with her companions. They looked like his lordship’s exotic butterflies.

  Vanessa wondered if Blythe suspected this lady might become her new mamma. If she did, she wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea. That was to be expected. Blythe was used to having her father entirely to herself. Her adoration of him was apparent. As his trip grew closer, Blythe became more fretful and voiced her dislike of him leaving at least once a day.

  By quarter to eleven, his lordship had not appeared. Blythe was limp and yawning. They could hear the guests departing, and Vanessa decided to tuck the child into bed and retire herself.

  “Time for bed, Blythe.”

  “Oh no, not yet, I’m having so much fun. I’m sure Father will join us soon. Can’t we wait a little longer?”

  Vanessa sensed she was being manipulated, but at the sight of Blythe’s earnest little face, she relented. “Fifteen minutes and then you must go to bed.”

  Blythe settled down again, crossing her legs at the ankle and spreading her dress over the seat. “I’ve never seen the sea. What’s it like?”

  Aware she was being deliberately distracted from her purpose, Vanessa described the rugged Cornish coast and the sea birds nesting in the cliffs. She regaled her with the story of her first swim in the ocean. How her father had to rescue her in front of everyone. Blythe opened her eyes wide. “Did you almost drown?”

  “I swallowed some seawater, but no, I can’t say that I was a death’s door.”

  “Were there many peopl
e there?”

  “Oh, yes. They were all clustered around the bathhouses and holding onto their ropes in the sea. I believe I surfaced looking like some strange sea creature with seaweed in my hair.”

  Blythe pealed with laughter just as her father stepped out the door.

  He smiled. “I’m late. I’m sorry.”

  Vanessa’s plan to slip away unnoticed crumbled, yet she took her chance. “Blythe is very tired, my lord.”

  “No, I’m not.” Blythe straightened her drooping shoulders. “Will you dance with Miss Ashley now, Father?”

  Vanessa started to her feet. “It’s too late really. I think we must …”

  “Please wait. I’ll return in a moment.” He disappeared inside. If he objected to the idea, he hid it well.

  Vanessa’s breath quickened as she searched her mind for a polite excuse. “Surely the musicians have packed up,” she said to Blythe.

  At that moment, the strains of a waltz his lordship must have requested floated out of the open door. He re-appeared and walked over to her. “I would be honored if you will dance with me, Miss Ashley.” He held out his arms.

  Blythe giggled. “Oh do dance with Father, Miss Ashley.”

  Vanessa hesitated, flushing at the suggestion of something she felt too intimate. Her reputation would be worthless if this was put about. No one would hire a forward governess. She rose and went to him with the hope that the servants were busy tidying up in the ballroom or retiring to bed. Holding her breath, she took his hand. He placed an arm around her waist.

  As they began to glide over the terrace, her knees grew weak at the smell of his cologne, the feel of the strong contours of his arm, and the hand at her waist that seemed to burn through the cloth.

  Her feet didn’t falter once. If only her mother could see her now.

  Blythe clapped in time to the music as he twirled Vanessa expertly around the terrace. When she summoned the courage to raise her eyes to his, they held a solemn expression. Was this a penance just to please Blythe?

  Vanessa stumbled, and his arm tightened. Her hand trembled within his broad clasp. She tried counting in her head to remain calm, but the sensation of his body so close to hers was like nothing she’d ever experienced. With a deep breath, she steadied herself. She was too old for girlish desires. Her feet began to move in perfect rhythm with the music and she became lost again in the heady sensation waltzing produced. It had never occurred to her that dancing would be so pleasurable, that a man’s arms could offer such ….

  “Father, you and Miss Ashley dance perfectly together,” Blythe called.

  Without warning, and before the music ended, he drew away.

  “That was a pleasure, Miss Ashley.” He gave a stiff bow. “Perhaps it’s time you were off to bed, little one.” He kissed Blythe and, with a quick glance back at Vanessa, turned and went inside.

  Vanessa put a hand to her burning cheek. She was almost glad he’d be departing for South America soon and life at the Hall would become tranquil, if a trifle dull.

  Chapter Six

  The days passed uneventfully. Vanessa settled into a routine with Blythe. She saw little of his lordship, who was preparing for his trip. After he had accompanied them on that one brief ride, he assigned Lovel to the task of escorting them.

  Vanessa did not much like Lovel following silently behind them. Judging her seat most likely, which made her so self-conscious she rode with her back as rigid as a poker. She finally succeeded in forgetting him when Blythe’s bright chatter drew her attention. Vanessa suspected Blythe still thought her a poor thing on a horse. She was determined to become at least competent and earn the child’s respect. Each day, Flora became more responsive to her commands, but riding sidesaddle continued to bother her. The awkward pose caused her leg and hip to ache, and she never felt in complete control.

  Out of doors, Blythe came alive and, for a few brief moments, forgot to worry about her father’s imminent departure. Her joyous face glowed with good health after a canter over the fields. She pealed with laughter when a rabbit poked its head out of a hole and waggled its ears at them. It heartened Vanessa to see the child hunt around the garden, gathering flowers to press in books, as well as feathers, leaves, and pebbles. A pastime she had once enjoyed but had abandoned after her mother died. Blythe’s eyes sparkled when she found a beautiful blue robin’s egg to add to her collection. But Vanessa knew that as soon as they returned to the house, Blythe would become despondent again.

  The more Vanessa saw of the Falconbridge estate the more she came to realize how immense it was. On a fine sunny afternoon, they rode all the way to the river and sat under a willow tree while the horses grazed. Lovel wandered farther downstream and stood chewing a reed as he stared into the water.

  “What’s Lovel doing?” Blythe sat up and stared, causing Vanessa to turn her head.

  Crouching down, Lovel leaned over the water. Suddenly, a fish flopped about in his cupped hands.

  “How clever! How did you do it, Lovel?” Blythe called.

  “An old gypsy trick, Miss Blythe.” Lovel’s eyes shone as he slapped the fish once on the ground. He tucked its limp body into a bag at his pommel. “’Twill do nicely for my supper.”

  It seemed unnecessary. Everyone was amply fed at Falconbridge Hall. Was it the thrill of the kill that drove him? She thought of the dead rabbit – how angry Lord Falconbridge had been at Lovel for hunting in the wood.

  Vanessa had yet to visit the wood due to Lord Falconbridge’s ban. She thought of that young woman’s body hanging from a tree and shivered.

  It was in men’s nature to hunt and kill for the table, a primeval urge. Like a woman’s wish for a child. She gazed with affection on Blythe. She was the closest thing Vanessa would ever come to being a mother, and she felt a deep affection for the child already.

  “Is anything wrong, Miss Ashley?” Blythe asked.

  “No, my dear. I thought we’d have a picnic lunch in the folly. I’ve asked Cook to prepare us a hamper.”

  “Oh how nice!”

  *****

  Vanessa bit into a slice of pork pie enjoying the light flaky texture. Cook had a wonderfully light hand with pastry. She had packed the basket with a splendid feast of boiled eggs with fresh baked bread and butter, salad, fruit, fresh lemonade and rhubarb charlotte. It was peaceful sitting in the atmospheric folly gazing over the water, like being in some Ancient Greek temple awaiting the gods. Vanessa watched Blythe feeding crumbs to the squabbling ducks. A pair of elegant swans consented to eat a few morsels. She had hoped the lunch would distract Blythe. The child looked up and laughed. “That little brown duck is greedy. It is chasing all the others away from the food.”

  Vanessa smiled and nodded. The small and frail or disenfranchised must fight harder to survive.

  When the ducks had gobbled the last of the bread, Blythe returned to sit beside her. “We’ll begin a new book today,” Vanessa said. “You may choose it.”

  “I know which book I want,” Blythe said. “I saw it in the library.”

  “Which?”

  “Treasure Island.”

  “I shall have to ask your father.” Vanessa wondered what Lord Falconbridge would think of that. She almost looked forward to asking him. Why did Blythe want to read this book particularly? She had seemed more interested in fairies than pirates. Might an adventure appeal to her more after his lordship’s lessons and his vivid descriptions of the exotic flora and fauna he found on his expeditions?

  *****

  The summer heat continued, with an occasional thunderstorm offering a temporary respite. Blythe now displayed less alarm at the lightning and thunder, thankfully, as Vanessa was running out of new ways to describe it. Thor in bad temper throwing lightning bolts had been her latest effort. The weather seemed to make everyone short tempered. “Why, we might live in Africa for all this heat we’re having,” Mrs. Royce complained.

  The humidity reached its zenith three weeks after the ball. Vanessa twisted and turned in the
bedclothes, her nightgown sticking to her skin. What she would give for a sea breeze!

  She had no idea what time it was. Throwing back the covers, she stumbled in the dark to the open window. The air was heavy and still, the fragrances intensified. Crickets trilled, and from somewhere near the pond, a frog sent a throbbing invitation to its mate.

  As her eyes adjusted, the brick walls of the folly took shape where the soft glow of lamp light shone out. This must be the light Blythe had seen. She leaned forward, her elbows on the sill. Who would be down there this time of night? She decided to see who it was. Then she could reassure Blythe and put an end to her desire to see for herself. Pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped into a pair of shoes. She opened her bedroom door. It must have been close to midnight, the house quiet and still. She tiptoed along the corridor to the stairs. One flight down, she peered over the banister rail into the hall below where a gas lamp still burned. She knew that his lordship had gone to a dinner party; she had heard him instruct Johnson not to wait up. Apparently, he had not yet returned.

  She went softly down the stairs to the front door. Opening it, she slipped through, and it clicked shut behind her. The temperature was several degrees cooler outside. She made her way along the path through the gardens as the faint breeze stirred the damp hair at her neck, carrying with it the pine-laden scent of the woods. The moonlight illuminated the glassy waters of the lake. A disturbed water bird left its nest and flapped away.

  Only a few steps from the structure, she heard a soft moan followed by a groan. She could see the clear outline of two people. It was a romantic assignation as she’d guessed. But she had not expected …. Their pale moonlit bodies moved together on the chaise longue. A rich chuckle followed by a mew of pleasure sent Vanessa backing away.