Mellington Hall

by Meredith Resce

  Though she had told Alan to leave, she wanted him back, desperately. She should have told him about her grandfather, and even though she didn’t know much about it, she should have told him that there was the possibility of a dowry. But she had wanted Alan to marry her because he loved her, not because it was a suitable alliance. When he had finally decided to ask her, she had known that he had rejected his own sense of family pride and the expectations of society, and that he wanted her, just herself, for who she was.

  Now she began to berate herself for not telling him. She didn’t want to lose him. But now he doubted her motives, as if she only wanted him to gain access to her mother’s inheritance. But that was untrue. She just wanted him for himself. She loved him.

  The question tormenting her was, had her reticence caused a permanent breakup? Would he ever speak to her again?

  By the time he reached Mellington Hall, Alan had already begun to regret having left without fully resolving the problem, but he had nothing if he didn’t have his pride.

  Rupert was surprised to see his master return. He had been convinced that Alan would remain with the Montgomerys, but that had only been a guess. He had not ever heard it confirmed where they had been.

  As Rupert was brushing down some of Alan’s coats, he was surprised when his master suddenly seemed in need of a confidante.

  “Did you know that Miss Montgomery was the granddaughter of Sir Alistair Pennerly?” Alan asked straight out.

  “Yes, I did know, sir.”

  This angered Alan even more. “How did you know?”

  “On the first day she arrived here, insisting on seeing you, she used her Grandfather’s name as a way to gain entrance.”

  “And you thought it unnecessary to let me know?” Alan asked angrily.

  “You were very ill at the time, and it was weeks before you were well enough. I did not even think about it by that time.”

  Alan recognised the truth of this, and said nothing more.

  “Are there any other things you need for me to arrange for your wedding, sir?” Rupert eventually asked, as he was preparing to leave the room.

  “I am not altogether certain there will be a wedding.” Alan stated before considering the wisdom of speaking so openly.

  “I trust Miss Montgomery is well,” Rupert said insincerely.

  “We have quarrelled,” Alan replied, deciding that he wanted to share his thoughts with someone. “Do you think that I have been deceived in her character?” he asked.

  “I have always been of the opinion that Miss Montgomery has been cleverly working her way into this household, and that she was not to be trusted, sir.”

  Alan listened to his opinion but did not comment straight away.

  “Mrs Evans believes her to be nothing but a trollop who is after your money.”

  “Thank you, Rupert. That will do.”

  Rupert bowed his head deferentially, aware that perhaps he had gone too far. Alan watched him leave the room and wondered. His household staff had made it quite clear they thought Sarah was an interloper, acting far above herself and behaving improperly. But then, by the same token, he recognised that she had definitely, without any doubt, saved his life on two occasions. And far from acting above herself, it would appear that her social status was above his own. Sir Alistair Pennerly was unquestionably a man of higher status than himself. After seeing what her grandfather had intended for her, he realised that her estate would be greater than his own. But she would not get any of it without a suitable husband. The old man had made that clause watertight. Did she know that? She might not have been after his money, but was she using him to gain access to her own?

  He really wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

  otally exhausted, not only from the day’s travel, but also from the emotional upheaval, Alan retired to bed early. But if he thought he would gain any strength from his sleep, he was disappointed, as sleep eluded him completely. He went over and over the quarrel he’d had with Sarah, and re-examined his entire history with her, searching for reminders of things that had happened which proved her sincerity, if not her love for him. He could remember with ease so many things which evoked warm feelings of tenderness toward her, and virtually nothing to the contrary. The one difficulty was that she had not told him about who she really was.

  But then that isn’t strictly true, he told himself. Who she is really is Sarah Montgomery, capable, daughter of my estate manager, who will do whatever it takes in an emergency, even if it flouts convention. She might not act the part of a highborn lady, but her family ranks much higher on the social scale than mine.

  He wished he could get out of bed and ride over to the Montgomery farm and tell her he was sorry, and that he loved her, and that he didn’t care whether she was a lady or a housemaid, he wanted her to be his wife.

  Hours passed in this kind of mental torture, and Alan determined that he would get up and go to his library for a time, just to wear his mind into a state whereby he would be able to fall asleep.

  But before he could ignite a taper to light a lamp, he heard his bedroom door open. At first he remembered the night when Sarah had entered this way, and had literally thrown herself on his bed. It had been both terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

  “Sarah?” he asked the darkness, half hoping that she had forgiven him, and despite everything else come back to him.

  “It’s me, sir!” A woman’s voice came through the darkness, but Alan knew instantly it wasn’t Sarah. “Miss Lucinda?” he asked, not quite sure if he’d heard correctly.

  “I heard you’d broken it off with Miss Sarah,” she replied, “And I’ve come to offer myself to you, sir!”

  By this time Lucinda was close enough to him for him to be able to make out a silhouette in the very dim light provided by the moonlight that filtered around the edge of the drapes.

  “Let me light the lamp,” Alan answered, not wanting to sound too harsh, but wanting to put a stop to the girl’s advance as quickly as possible.

  “We don’t need no light, sir,” she said, throwing her arms around him, and pressing her body against his. “I know you have needs, and I can meet them for you, please sir.”

  “No, Lucinda,” Alan said, trying to put her away from himself firmly but gently. “This is not right. You know I am engaged to be married.”

  “But she’s gone, and I want you, sir,” she whined, refusing to let him go.

  Alan could see that his gentle approach was not working, and decided he would have to become more forceful.

  “I said, no, Lucinda!” As he spoke he pushed her away quite forcefully. Immediately he turned to see about lighting the lamp to shed light on the scene, but as he did, it was as if the girl turned into a demon, letting out a blood-curdling scream, and throwing herself at him in a frenzy. Without light, it was difficult to stop her, and it took a few moments for him to realise that she wasn’t just attacking him with her hands, but that she had a knife, and he began to feel pain and blood oozing from several cuts on his arms and chest.

  Because he had been standing, even though she had surprised him, he was able eventually to grab both of her wrists, and prevent her from slashing at him further.

  “Rupert!” he yelled at the top of his voice, even while he wrestled her close to the door, so that he could still have hold of her, but go in search of his valet if necessary. “Rupert!”

  Within a few moments, he finally saw a light in the hallway. By it he saw that Lucinda was not only dishevelled, but absolutely covered in blood. The sight was chilling, and at first he feared that once again, he had suffered a wound that would bring him close to death. As he thought about it, he realised that, distracted by the emergency he had been unaware of the pain of his wounds, but he was now sure that he had been cut a number of times.

  None too soon, Rupert came and helped him to subdue the crazed housemaid. Alan immediately inspected his various cuts, and found that, though they were bleeding, there was no wound that could possib
ly have left that amount of blood on Lucinda.

  “She has attacked someone else! Simon?” He hazarded a guess.

  As he said his brother’s name, Lucinda began to writhe and kick, screaming on top note. “I hate him!” she screamed. “I want him to die!”

  Without waiting to give any orders, Alan lit a second candle, and taking it, ran out of his room, down the staircase to the second floor, banging on Simon’s valet’s door as he went past. Eventually he came to his brother’s room and went straight inside. The sight that greeted him was gruesome, and he feared he would lose the contents of his stomach.

  He was the first on the scene and though shocked, he thought to himself that Sarah would most certainly have acted quickly and efficiently to determine if the bleeding could be stopped. All he could think of was Sarah and what she would do.

  It had been two days and Sarah was beginning to despair. She had hoped that Alan would have returned in the morning after that first night, but he didn’t. She toyed with the idea of going to Mellington Hall herself, but her pride and her sense of decorum made her abandon this idea as too desperate and too forward. She was finding it very hard to maintain her anger with him. She just wanted to forgive him, and know that on the morrow they would meet at the church, as pre-arranged, exchange vows, and come together in marriage.

  On the pretext of trying to make final arrangements, Sarah asked her father if he would go to the hall and see if the gardener had the flowers ready for the wedding. She hadn’t told her parents that she had told Alan she never wanted to speak to him again. She hadn’t meant it, and hoped that Alan realised that, but his prolonged absence was causing her an inordinate amount of anxiety.

  When her father returned to the farmhouse driving at a speed that was well beyond normal had it been an ordinary trip, Sarah was immediately alert.

  She said nothing, not wanting to appear in any way anxious, but waited in anticipation of her father’s news.

  “You had better come into the house, my dear,” her father said, his tone of voice failing to hide that something was the matter.

  “What is it?” Sarah asked, completely overlooking the fact that he’d asked her to go inside.

  “I think you will want to sit down.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked firmly, all the while sensing that something was amiss. “Did you speak to Alan?” She wanted to ask if Alan had told him the wedding was definitely off, but she still wasn’t ready to admit to the disagreement.

  “Sit down, Sarah,” Phillip said sternly.

  She recognised that her father would not speak until she complied, so she sat down on a kitchen chair, her stomach churning with anticipation.

  “What is it, father?” she asked.

  “There has been another attack,” he said evenly. “The gardener says that Lord Mellington has been badly hurt.”

  Sarah’s face paled.

  “But we quarrelled,” she said weakly. “I told him I had no need of him!”

  Phillip looked at her sadly.

  “I did not mean it, father. I love him. I want to marry him.”

  “Now, now! We all say regrettable things some time or another. Things we do not mean.”

  “Will he live? Will he be all right?”

  “I do not know,” Phillip replied. “The house was all in an uproar, and no one was prepared to let me in. All I know is what the gardener has told me.”

  “Will you take me to him?” Sarah said quickly.

  “That would not be proper, Sarah!”

  “Please,” she begged. “I can’t bear the thought of him dying, not knowing that I’m sorry for what I said. You must take me, father. I implore you!”

  By the time Phillip got the cart back on the road, Claire had joined them, and insisted that she needed to come along as well. Sarah sat next to her mother, worried and dreading the worst. She hardly noticed her mother’s attempt to comfort her by holding her hand, and gently patting it.

  It seemed to take forever to get to the hall, but once they got there, Sarah wasted no time getting down from the cart, and going quickly toward the door.

  “Sarah!” Her father called. “Don’t be presumptuous. We should use the servants’ entrance.”

  Sarah didn’t want to stop and discuss the propriety of entering either through the main entrance or through the servants’ entrance. At this stage, she simply didn’t care. All that mattered was that she made it to Alan’s side before it was too late, so she followed her father’s advice and turned down the path that led to the side of the house.

  She knocked only briefly, but didn’t stop to wait for an answer. Instead she pushed the door open and went inside. She was familiar with this part of the house, after working here for weeks, and she knew exactly which way to go to find Alan.

  But before she could get through the kitchen she was met by the cook, hands on her ample hips, and a look of disapproval fixed firmly on her face.

  “Please let me past,” Sarah pleaded.

  “You have no place in this house. You are nothing but a money-grabbing tramp! Get out!”

  “Mrs Evans, please. My fiancé has been attacked again. I need to see him. Let me past!”

  Sarah was tired of being delayed and pushed past the woman, without waiting to see her reaction.

  “You’re not wanted in this house, trollop!” the cook shouted after her. She turned around in a huff, and was vastly surprised to see an irate Claire Montgomery.

  “Mrs Evans,” Claire said firmly. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lady Claire Pennerly.”

  The cook easily recognised the voice of authority and the noble demeanour, but the woman’s clothes contradicted her bearing.

  “I believe I just heard you speak out of turn to Lady Sarah. That is unacceptable, and I think you had best consider how you are going to apologise. It would not surprise me if you were to be dismissed for being so disgracefully rude.”

  The astonished Mrs Evans had the wisdom to keep her mouth closed. She hadn’t heard anything about Sarah Montgomery being a lady. She hadn’t looked or acted like a lady. For all she had heard, she believed her to be a tramp, but this woman certainly seemed to be one with authority.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said eventually, dipping her head deferentially.

  Claire was amused to realise how easily the ways of being mistress of the house had come back to her, even after all these years. The clothes meant nothing. It was all in the education.

  “Would you be so good as to direct us,” she indicated Phillip who waited quietly behind her, “to where we might find Lord Mellington. I believe he is very ill.”

  Alan sat next to the bed of his younger brother, not knowing quite how he should feel. He was very thankful that the only result of Lucinda’s attack against himself had been several lacerations that had needed stitching. But when he considered his brother, it was a very different situation. She must have stole quietly into his room and attacked him with the knife before he even had a chance to wake up and realise what was happening. Simon had lost a lot of blood, and from the doctor’s report, had received a wound to the stomach that even yet might kill him.

  Alan was quite sensible to the fact that he and his brother had not been on good terms. The only thing he could think of now was that he was glad that it hadn’t been Simon after all, who had made those other attempts on his life. This revelation alone did a great deal towards softening the older brother’s attitude toward the younger.

  But the pair of them had frequently exchanged harsh words in the last few months, and Alan knew he had been angry with Simon, and he was fully aware that Simon resented the interference in his personal and financial affairs.

  But all that seemed insignificant when Alan considered that he might still lose his brother. Death was so final. Alan was not just an attender of church to satisfy the demands of decent society. He was an ardent believer in the message of Christ and salvation, and at this moment, he realised that his brother had had no scruples in
letting the whole of society know that he neither believed in the message of salvation nor cared what people thought of him when he exhibited his lack of faith. To Alan’s way of thinking, Simon was quite unprepared to face eternity, and as such, he prayed fervently for his brother’s recovery, and also that their relationship might be restored enough for him to earnestly plead with him concerning eternal salvation.

  As he sat quietly on the chair, and prayed over his brother, he was startled by someone throwing open the bedroom door, and quite naturally he was on the alert. Lucinda’s attack had caused him to be very much on edge. But it was not Lucinda this time, but Sarah who burst into the room.

  The moment their eyes locked, Sarah stopped and looked at him, as if waiting for him to acknowledge her and give permission for her to move forward.

  “I thought it was you who had been attacked,” Sarah said, her voice quavering as she looked between Simon’s bed and the place where Alan stood.

  “Both of us, actually,” Alan said evenly. “I was a little more prepared to defend myself this time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said, just above a whisper. “I am sorry that you are hurt, and I am sorry that I did not tell you about my grandfather. Will you forgive me?”

  Alan, who was already standing from when she came into the room, opened his arms and began to move toward her. “Will you forgive me for doubting your character? It was so unpardonable.”

  But he need not have bothered trying to formulate any speeches. She wasn’t listening anyway. Forgetting all sense of propriety, she rushed into his embrace and threw her arms around him.

  “Ow!” Alan winced as she squeezed two of the healing cuts. “Not as bad as Simon, but not completely well,” he said, pulling back just a little.

  “I am so sorry,” Sarah said, stepping back a little, and looking him over carefully. “I am just so happy that you are alive.”

  “Will you sit with me a while and join me in praying for my brother?” he asked gently.