Ariadne's Diadem

by Sandra Heath

  Gervase gazed uneasily at the faun’s trembling little tail. “Sylvanus? Are you all right? Is Anne still safe—?” His fear for the woman he loved was almost too much to bear.

  “Yes, she’s all right.” Sylvanus peeped timidly over the bench.

  “I thought maybe my damned cousin had come early, and...” The danger she was in weighed heavily upon Gervase’s heart.

  Sylvanus lowered his eyes. “She’s quite all right,” he said again. “Well, when I say that—”

  “What happened?” Gervase interrupted anxiously, for clearly something had occurred that involved Anne.

  “My rope snake must have been removed, because the dog found me. Then the gardener came down with his blunderbuss, and I could only escape by turning them both to stone for a few moments. It was either that or be caught. I’d dearly have liked to leave that wretched dog as a statue, though,” the faun added, recovering sufficiently to sit weakly on the bench.

  “What of Anne?”

  “She and the housekeeper came down, and passed me in the darkness. They’ll have had a shock about finding the temple, but that’s all, because I’d turned the man and the dog back from marble by then.”

  “Did the gardener see you?”

  “Yes, but it was over in seconds, and he will probably think he imagined it. The dog realized more, but he can’t speak to humans.”

  Gervase didn’t say anything, for he could well recall his own feelings when he’d first been turned to marble. Joseph might think he imagined it, but he’d never forget it all the same.

  Sylvanus looked uncomfortably at him. “There’s just one thing. I forgot to bring your coat with me. If they find it and recognize the buttons...”

  “They might show it to Hugh.” Gervase finished.

  “He’s bound to recognize it and wonder how on earth it comes to be here.”

  “Well, what’s done is done.”

  * * * *

  At that moment Anne had just placed the coat in question in a comer of the kitchens, then she turned toward Joseph, who was seated with a drink of something to steady his nerves. Jack was at his knee, and the lurcher was still quivering. “Right, Joseph, I think you should tell us the truth now,” she said quietly.

  He sat forward guiltily. “I’ve already said what happened, Miss Anne.”

  “You haven’t,” she replied patiently.

  “I have, I swear it!” he cried.

  Mrs. Jenkins looked closely at him and realized Anne was right. “Joseph Greenwood!” she said sharply.

  He eyed them both unhappily. “Look, I just can’t tell you!” he said then.

  “Why not?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Because it’s lunatic, that’s why.”

  Anne and Mrs. Jenkins exchanged glances, each thinking of the strange business of the disappearing nymph. Anne looked at him again. “Just tell us, Joseph, because believe me, there have been some strange things happening here recently.” Briefly she told him about Penelope’s comings and goings.

  The old man stared at her. “But that’s impossible,” he said.

  “More impossible than whatever it was that happened in the cellar?”

  He hesitated, and then shook his head. “Maybe not. All right, I’ll tell you, but you must promise you won’t say a word of it to anyone. I don’t want to end up in a bedlam.” He cleared his throat and stroked the lurcher’s head. “There were three things really. Firstly, I saw Jack all turned to stone, as white and stiff as that statue in the maze; then I saw something like a man, except it had horns and a billy-goat’s beard. The last thing I remember was feeling myself turning to stone too. It lasted only a few moments, then I was myself again, but it’s the truth, I swear it upon my mother’s grave. Look at Jack— can’t you see that something mighty frightening happened to him?” There was silence, and the gardener got up from the chair. “Right, I’ve told you what happened, and now I want to forget it. I’m going to go out to the garden and get on with the jobs I intended to start earlier, and I’m not going to mention a single word of this ever again.”

  No one said anything as he clumped across the kitchens in his heavy boots. Jack followed him out, and as man and dog crossed the courtyard, the two women looked at each other. Mrs. Jenkins spoke first. “There’s something very odd going on around here, isn’t there. Miss Anne?” she observed with masterly understatement.

  “I fear there is, Mrs. Jenkins.” Joseph’s words echoed disturbingly through Anne’s head. As white and stiff as that statue in the maze.

  The housekeeper sat down unhappily. “What with the nad, and now horned men in the cellar...”

  Anne remembered her decision to make the cellar secure. “Where is that old padlock from the outhouse that was demolished last autumn?”

  “In that drawer over there. Miss Anne.”

  “Will you bolt the door from the passage into the cellars? I intend to make absolutely certain he doesn’t get in again.”

  The housekeeper nodded, and then hesitated. “May I say something, Miss Anne? I know you won’t like it, but I have to say all this has only started happening since Mr. Danby came here.”

  Anne had also begun to wonder if there was a connection, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Without replying, she left the kitchen to put the padlock on the trapdoors, and then she straightened and glanced through the archway toward the maze. Could it really be just coincidence that Joseph described Jack as being like the statue? And was it also coincidence that she herself thought the statue was the image of Charles Danby? She swallowed, for her thoughts were drifting toward too incredible conclusions.

  Suddenly, a figure appeared beneath the archway, and there came the loud clanging of a handbell. She gave a frightened start, but then almost laughed aloud, for it was only the letter carrier, and he’d brought a letter from Ireland. Thoughts of Charles Danby were temporarily set aside as she immediately broke the seal and began to read.

  “Ballynarray, Monday, May 6th, 1816.

  “My dearest child,

  “This letter comes with all our love and sincere hope that you enjoy(ed?) your birthday. Your dear mother spent many an anxious moment deciding upon the exact form of our gift, but I think you will agree her efforts were not in vain. I will not mention what it is, for fear this letter arrives before the event!

  “Now to other things. I have made my peace with my brother, whose health is now very frail but who is thankfully no longer in danger, and I am writing this in the hope that you will accept and understand the momentous decision to which your mother and I have come. To be brief and to the point, when you become Duchess of Wroxford, we intend that Ballynarray, which is my birthright once more, will be our home.”

  Anne stared at the last sentence for a long moment before reading on.

  “Having no doubt shaken you with this revelation, allow me to explain. In recent years my secret longing for my homeland has become more and more difficult to ignore. Now that I have returned to Ballynarray and found that not only is it mine again, but my name has at last been cleared of all supposed past crimes, so great has my happiness become that I can no longer pretend that I wish to remain at Llandower for the rest of my days. Your mother understands, and is happy to live here—after all, without you, what is Llandower to us? I think that once you have recovered from the shock of this letter, you will understand how I feel. Your marriage and my brother’s illness have combined to create a watershed in all our lives, and I intend to return to my roots. You have only known Llandower, and I do not doubt that you will always regard it in the same light that I regard Ballynarray, but you are soon to be the Duchess of Wroxford, and Wroxford Park will be your home. Besides, the duke owns Llandower, so you will not be completely parted from it. Forgive me if I seem to be putting my needs before yours, my dear, but I have yearned for Ireland ever since I left. At Llandower I have always had to struggle to balance the books, but Ballynarray is prosperous, and offers me the degree of security and independence I have always wanted.
I will own this land, my dear, not merely be the tenant, and that means a great deal.

  “Please understand, and be happy for us, as we are happy for you. We still do not begin to understand about your match with the duke, but as it is clearly what you wish, then we are content for you. I will not write more now, because I do not doubt that I have given you enough to think about. We will return within the month, because my tenancy soon falls due, and I will have to see Mr. Critchley about its termination. There is also the matter of the servants. We do, of course, intend to offer Mrs. Jenkins, Joseph, and Martin places with us here in Ballynarray, although whether or not they choose to leave England is another matter. However, that remains to be seen.

  “Until we see you again, my dearest daughter, I am, your loving Father.”

  Hardly able to absorb what she’d just read, Anne slowly folded the letter. Her hands were trembling, and she could have laughed out loud at the irony of the situation. She had thought Llandower meant everything to her father, when all the time he longed to be free of it! If she’d known, she would never have entered into the contract with Gervase Mowbray, never felt obliged to continue the match with Hugh Mowbray, and never have considered her feelings for Charles Danby to be wrong!

  Suddenly, the implications were borne in on her. She’d been released from the old duke’s pressure, and Hugh had told her he could get around the terms of the will, so the match could be abandoned! Gathering her skirts, she ran back to the kitchens, where Mrs. Jenkins was continuing to prepare the picnic food. All at once, it seemed entirely inappropriate for Hugh to come tonight; indeed it seemed inappropriate that the picnic should proceed at all. “Mrs. Jenkins, there isn’t going to be a picnic tonight; in fact I’m about to write a note to the duke to tell him the betrothal is at an end. Martin must take it to the White Boar right now.”

  The housekeeper dropped the plate she was holding. “You—you what, Miss Anne?” she said faintly.

  Anne smiled. “Don’t look like that, Mrs. Jenkins, for I am happy. Please read this.” She held out her father’s letter.

  Slowly, the housekeeper took it, and her eyes widened as she read, especially when she reached the suggestion at the end that she, Joseph, and Martin might like to go to Ireland. “Oh, my Lord above,” she said weakly and sat down. Then she looked earnestly at Anne. “But what of becoming Duchess of Wroxford? Do you really want to turn your back upon such a fine husband?”

  Anne crouched beside her and took her hands. “I’ve never really wanted the match; I only entered into it because if I’d refused, the old duke would have turned my parents out of here.” She explained exactly how the match had come about in the first place.

  The housekeeper listened in silence and held her gaze. “So you’re telling me that the new duke doesn’t really want the match either, nor his cousin before him?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, especially of the late Gervase Mowbray, who certainly resented the whole thing.”

  “And now I suppose it is Mr. Danby who is uppermost in your thoughts?”

  Anne drew back a little. “I admit I feel a great deal for him, Mrs. Jenkins, even though I hardly know him.”

  “I suspect you know a great deal more than you should,” the housekeeper observed shrewdly.

  Anne colored.

  Mrs. Jenkins exhaled. “Oh, what a day, and it’s hardly past breakfast,” she declared.

  Anne smiled. “A memorable birthday, indeed. I’m going to write that note now,” she said firmly, getting up.

  “But what on earth will you say? Surely it’s best to speak to the duke face-to-face?”

  “I intend to, Mrs. Jenkins, but the birthday picnic doesn’t seem the proper occasion. It will be far better if I speak to him on neutral ground at the White Boar, and since—what with one thing and another—I admit to being a little overwrought at the moment, I think I will go tomorrow.” Anne lowered her eyes. And in the meantime, please come to Llandower again, Charles, please...

  Chapter Twenty-six

  At the White Boar Hugh was taking breakfast with Kitty. The actress had donned her best pink lawn morning gown for the benefit of Sir Thomas and his wife and was in a good humor because it amused her that she probably knew far more about Sir Thomas’s predilections between the sheets than his sour-cat spouse ever would.

  The actress wouldn’t have been in such an amiable mood had she realized her appearance wasn’t quite as elegantly proper as she thought. Her short-sleeved, exceedingly décolleté gown was intended to be made respectable for daytime by the addition of long muslin sleeves and a carefully tucked scarf, but in her vanity she had chosen not to wear either, of which glaring omissions Hugh first learned when she joined him at the table. He was tastefully and discreetly turned out in a plain brown coat and fawn trousers, perfect attire for breakfast at a country inn, and he was dismayed by her lack of discretion. Suddenly, he found himself recalling Gervase’s observation in Naples. A daring expanse of bosom is embarrassing and vulgar outside the confines of the bedchamber. How disagreeably true.

  Kitty sensed nothing of his thoughts and fully expected to be the object of Sir Thomas’s renewed desire and his wife’s envy. The former she was to enjoy, but the latter was certainly not forthcoming. Sir Thomas entered, his clothes pitched at exactly the same level as Hugh’s, except that he wore a gray coat and cream trousers, but when he turned for his wife to enter as well, the contrast with Kitty could not have been greater.

  Lady Fanhope was a thin, flat-bosomed woman with a sallow complexion and primly pursed lips. Her light hair was tugged back into a tight knot at the back of her head, and her long-sleeved gown—costly bottle green silk—had a starched lace ruff high around the throat. She was so busy lecturing her husband in her unpleasantly nasal voice that at first she did not notice the only other persons at the inn, but she fell ominously silent as her disapproving glance at last fell upon Kitty. Her lips pursed still more, her pointed nose seemed to visibly turn up at the end, and her gaze became withering as it encompassed the alarming plunge of pink lawn. Then, without acknowledging her fellow guests in any way, she sailed grandly to an unlaid table in the farthest corner of the room. As the flustered inn maids hurried to lay crockery, cutlery, and a fresh cloth, Sir Thomas paused awkwardly. On the one hand he was mindful of Hugh, but on the other hand his purse dictated that he had to bow to his wife, so after glancing yearningly at Kitty’s offending décolletage, he cleared his throat and hastened after his spouse.

  Kitty accurately interpreted the incident, and myriad savage expressions crossed her beautiful face. Hugh smarted as well, for by snubbing Kitty so completely. Lady Fanhope had snubbed him as well. One day he would make Fanhope’s piece of Staffordshire earthenware very sorry indeed! He looked across at the other table, where Sir Thomas’s face was an embarrassed study, and his wife looked as if she had just drunk a glass of vinegar. This was a sample of things to come if Kitty became his duchess, and it wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. Quite suddenly, all desire was extinguished, and the thought slid into his head that maybe he would be better off without her.

  Lady Fanhope observed them, and then sniffed disdainfully. “How can she sit there at the breakfast table in such a state of undress? Has she no discretion at all? I am put in mind of cream blancmange, although thankfully we are spared the sight of the cherries on top.”

  Had any other woman passed such a comment, it would have been meant to amuse, but Lady Fanhope did not possess a sense of humor, so Sir Thomas said nothing as he applied himself to the bacon, eggs, and sausage a maid placed before him. He stole a surreptitious glance at the cream blancmanges. Oh, for a goodly helping, and a nibble on the cherries!

  Lady Fanhope allowed herself another covert inspection of the other table. “I’d hazard she is very well acquainted with the demimonde.”

  “I really could not say, my dear,” he replied uncomfortably.

  “And her companion can be no better than he should be, for a person of true quality would not
choose to be seen with such a low creature.”

  Sir Thomas’s neck went very red, and he ran a finger nervously around his collar.

  “I will not, under any circumstances, tolerate their society while we are here. When we dine tonight, I will cut them both again, and you are to do the same, is that clear?”

  “Perfectly, my dearest one,” he replied, making a mental note to plead with Hugh for understanding on such a delicate point. Oh, God, women! Men were cursed with and without them!

  Lady Fanhope observed Kitty a little longer. “One wonders what she will deem suitable for dinner. She’ll be ablaze with cheap paste, of that I’m quite certain.”

  It was midmorning when Anne’s note arrived at the inn, where, of course, nothing was known of the Duke of Wroxford. Encouraged to hope that perhaps this exalted aristocrat would soon grace the premises with his presence, the landlord left the note on a shelf in the entrance hall while he went to instruct the maids to clean the next best bedroom from top to bottom.

  The note lay on the shelf for the remainder of the day, and Hugh knew nothing of it as the evening wore on, and at last it was time to prepare for Llandower. He looked very much the duke, in an indigo coat and rose-and-white striped waistcoat, with white trousers and gleaming Hessian boots, and he was utterly calm as he tied his starched neckcloth in the elaborate style he favored most. In his mind he had gone over and over how the coming hours would proceed, and he was confident that he was prepared for what must be done. Anne Willowby’s demise was as good as accomplished.

  Kitty was ready to dine at the inn and wore a kingfisher taffeta gown that exposed as much of her bosom, if not more, as the pink lawn. The diadem graced her head, for it was her intention to show Lady Fanhope that she possessed something that would eclipse anything in her ladyship’s jewelry box, but as she left her room to go to Hugh’s, she came face-to-face with the Fanhopes. She paused, holding her head high and looking scornfully at Lady Fanhope’s discreet diamond necklace. Sir Thomas’s jaw dropped when he saw the diadem, for its intense glitter told him it was only too real, but his wife’s glance was as withering as Kitty’s. Twitching her maroon silk skirts aside, her ladyship again swept past without a word, and after smiling longingly at his former mistress. Sir Thomas hurried obediently after her.