Falconridge

by Jennifer Wilde

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “I—I didn’t know the time.”

  “I heard a noise. It sounded like an explosion.”

  “It was my book—I dropped it. Lectures on Ancient Greece. I—I was unable to sleep. I wanted a book. Something dull. I went down to the library.…”

  “Why isn’t your lamp lit?”

  “I—blew it out.”

  “Blew it out?”

  “I—I thought I heard someone. I didn’t want them to see me.”

  Charles Lloyd looked down at me, one eye brown arched like a wing. I felt like a small child under the gaze of a stern parent. He was plainly disgusted with me. He shook his head slowly from side to side. I felt his seething anger. I knew I must look like a fool, and I knew what he must be thinking.

  “I suppose you heard voices?” he said.

  “Yes. No. I—I thought I did.”

  He smiled wryly. He did not believe me. I didn’t know now if I had heard the whisper or not. It was a nightmare, like Lucy’s. She had told me only this morning about what she had imagined she saw and heard and it had been in the back of my mind all day, lurking there, bothering me. I had let it prey on my mind until I, too, had begun to imagine things. Now under the harsh gaze of my uncle I could see all this, and I wanted to shrink away from his sight.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, entirely calm now.

  “I should think you would be, my dear.”

  “Did I awaken my aunt, too?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “Helena’s room is down the hall from mine. Her laudanum generally insures a sound sleep. Some of us do not rely on drugs. We can be aroused, certainly by an explosion of noise in the middle of the night.”

  “It—it won’t happen again.”

  “I should hope not. It was quite foolish of you to wander around in the house at this hour. You could have had an accident. You could have fallen down the stairs. I strongly advise you not to do it again.”

  “I won’t,” I replied tartly, affronted by his manner.

  “You’re shivering, my dear. Come, I’ll escort you to your room. I hope you have the good sense to stay there.”

  He took my elbow and led me down the hall to the door of my room. He paused to pick up my slippers where I had left them, and he handed these to me, smiling wryly. His eyes were full of mockery, and there was something else, too, something I could not recognize. I closed the door and listened to his footsteps going on down the hall. I did not light up the lamp. I sat down before the window, wondering. I watched the shadows swirl in darkness, slowly turning from black to gray. The first meager strains of yellow had begun to stain the horizon before I even tried to sleep again.

  X

  JAPANESE LANTERNS made soft splotches of color on the drive as carriages continued to drive up, letting out splendidly dressed men and women who stepped into a Falconridge that was ablaze with candlelight and full of the subdued sound of music and the tinkle of hushed laughter. The last rays of sunlight had just disappeared, and the house was surrounded with swirling gray mists. There was a distant rumble of thunder, as there had been all day, but as yet the storm was a mere threat and had done nothing to dispell the gaity of Helena’s party.

  Helena had been frantic all day, rushing about to see that everything was in order, scolding the servants, fussing with the decorations, stopping to fix tea for the musicians when they arrived in their attractive blue uniforms. She had stopped to dress only half an hour before the first guests arrived, yet she had been there in the front hall waiting to greet them with every curl in place, all regal grace and charming poise. She looked lovely in her soft blue dress with its low cut bodice and billowing bell-shaped skirts. She wore long white gloves and carried a white lace fan. A diamond and sapphire pin, her single adornment, rested among her sculptured silver curls. She was every inch the grand dame, self-assured, calm, gracious.

  My uncle looked bored and irritated as he moved among the guests. He had been gone all day, leaving early in the morning. I supposed it had something to do with collecting the rents, which had begun yesterday morning. Charles Lloyd had come in around five o’clock, slightly disheveled and in a foul mood. He had looked upset about something when he passed me in the hall. I noticed that his boots were muddy, something quite extraordinary with a man as fastidious about his dress as he was. He was handsomely dressed now, as resplendent as he had been that first night in London. Many a feminine eye followed him as he strolled about, and many of the women fluttered girlishly when he paused to speak to them. He was a little too recklessly handsome to be quite respectable, I thought as he stopped to fix the Vicar’s wife with a stern eye. I saw her blush as he spoke to her in his deep voice.

  I was a little timid in front of all these strangers. They had come to be introduced to me, the guest of honor, and I felt strange eyes following me as I passed through the brightly lit rooms. I felt I was under inspection, and it made me rather nervous. The lovely gown gave me some confidence. The creamy satin skirts billowed over the hoop, swaying as I walked, and the bodice was cut fashionably low to display my shoulders and bosom. Helena had insisted that I wear her emerald necklace, one of the few really valuable pieces of jewelry she owned besides the diamonds. The dark green stones with their deep blue lights glittered at my throat and set off the simple, unadorned lines of the gown. Lucy had spent over an hour on my hair, arranging it on top of my head with three long ringlets dangling down. I could tell by the admiring glances of the men that I met with their approval, yet that did little to ease my nerves. I was apprehensive lest I make some slip in front of these fine people.

  Helena was talking with Lady Randall, a plump brunette in a poorly fitting red satin gown. Helena summoned me over and introduced me to the Lady, who fussed with a string of obviously artificial pearls and talked in a broad, countrified accent. She had large bovine brown eyes and a little bow shaped mouth that seemed out of place in her chubby face. She toyed with the pearls and fluttered her eyelashes and exclaimed over me, telling Helena what a marvel I was.

  “Where’s my Billy?” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Billy must see her. He’ll be dazzled, he will. He’s on leave, you know. We just have him for another week before he goes back to London to join his regiment. He has the most fascinating stories about India! You must meet him, child. Oh, there he is! Billy!” she yelled in a voice more appropriate for calling pigs than for summoning one’s son.

  “I want you to meet this delicious creature, Billy,” she said, her voice slightly cloying now. “Isn’t she a joy! She’s Helena’s little niece, just come from London. You be sweet to her, you hear? Now, you two go amuse yourselves while we old woman gossip!”

  Billy Randall was not at all the striking military figure I had imagined. He was a tall, lanky boy in his early twenties with sandy hair and a prominent Adam’s apple. He wore the handsome uniform awkwardly, as though it were an unaccustomed masquerade costume. He seemed to be entirely flustered at meeting me. He clicked his heels together smartly as he bent to kiss my hand, and I had to smother a giggle. He was like an embarrassed little boy.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked, stammering a little.

  “I would be delighted,” I replied, smiling.

  He escorted me to the ballroom, moving stiffly. The room was all illuminated with candlelight which glimmered on the newly refurbished gilt. The chandeliers dripped their rainbow-hued crystals over the heads of countless couples who whirled to the strains of soft waltz music. The soft pastel skirts of the women fluttered like flower blossoms against the dark trousers of the men. It was an enchanting scene, all light and color and movement, and I paused for a moment to watch before Billy Randall took me awkwardly in his arms and swept me into the midst of it. I looked into his watery blue eyes and smiled charmingly. I did not grimace when he stepped on my feet, nor did I frown when he stumbled. He was a touching fellow in his eagerness to make a good im
pression on me, and his own nervousness was so intense that it made mine disappear entirely. I was relaxed and at ease when the dance was over.

  Billy had just begun a long, laborious story about a tiger hunt in India when his father came over and asked me to dance. Lord Randall was stolid and slow, puffing his cheeks out with the effort of dancing. His face was a little red, and he had an improbable walrus mustache. When the dance was over, another man asked me to dance, the son of a local merchant, and he was followed by a whole series of eligible young men who talked ponderously about their business affairs or foolishly about their social pursuits. I thought about the dark, handsome Cornish men Clarissa had predicted for me in one of our conversations. None of these men would qualify, although most were charming enough. They treated me like some rare bird whose plumage they were afraid to ruffle, and I was a little put off by their countrified mannerisms.

  Between dances there were glasses of champagne, and the fizzling golden drink soon began to go to my head. I was slightly dizzy, and the room seemed to revolve in a whirl of blurring color. I smiled politely at my current partner and listened patiently to his description of a new thoroughbred horse he had purchased. I saw Helena talking with a group of women at the foot of the stairs, and Charles Lloyd standing at the French windows that opened out from the ballroom onto the terraces. He was smoking a cigar, one hand jammed into his pocket, looking very superior to the creatures who swirled around him. My escort asked me if I was feeling well, and I nodded to reassure him and asked if he would excuse me for a moment.

  I knew why these young men seemed pale to me, and I knew why I was searching the room, looking for one face I had not yet seen. He must be here. We had successfully avoided one another for a long time, but tonight it seemed inevitable that we meet. Although I had not admitted it to myself, that was the major reason for my uneasiness earlier in the evening. That was the reason I had gone to such pains with my grooming, why I had been so careful to appear charming and at ease, having a good time. I wanted to look well in his eyes. I wanted Norman Wade to see that I was enjoying myself. I had cast furtive glances over the shoulders of my partners, looking around for him. He appeared to be nowhere in sight.

  My head was spinning now, and I walked very carefully away from my partner. I had had too much champagne, too quickly, and everything was a little hazy. I felt almost as though I was walking under water, moving in slow motion while the room swayed with my movements. I thought some food would help.

  I left the ballroom and went through the large arched door that led to the dining room. Helena had prepared three elaborate buffet tables, heavily laden with food. Gleaming china platters held glazed hams, a golden brown turkey, succulent roasts dripping in juice. There were side dishes of vegetables, green asparagus, tiny peas, small potatoes, sliced red tomatoes, golden corn. There were platters of fish, a pail of oysters, small pink shrimp in red sauce. Servants in crisp white aprons heaped platefuls of food for the people who flocked around the tables like so many starving peasants. I saw Lord Randall wolfing down a plate of glazed cakes, and I felt quite ill, suddenly in need of some fresh air.

  A hundred candles burned in the main hallway, and little groups of people stood about, eating their food and chattering much too loudly, I thought. Billy Randall waved to me, indicating that I join him beside the potted plant, but I shook my head and smiled and walked on. I saw a cluster of young girls sitting on the steps. They held plates on their knees and seemed to be convulsed in giggles. They were large, buxom girls with big bones and rather gawky mannerisms, all dressed in the finest gowns they owned. A brown eyed lass with untidy flaxen hair leaned against the stair railing, her brown and yellow velvet gown a little too tight, as though it had been made three years earlier. She giggled with a tall brunette in purple who fluttered a fan of tattered blue feathers. The attention of the girls seemed to be focused on one point, and I followed their gaze to see Norman Wade deep in conversation with one of their friends, a strapping lass with pink cheeks and large green eyes. Her red hair fell in rich ringlets about her shoulders, and the pink velvet gown was an unfortunate choice for one with her particular coloring.

  Norman Wade was at his most charming, looking deep into her eyes with an intense gaze. He whispered something in her ear. She blushed vividly and then giggled. He clenched his fist into a ball and tapped her gently on the chin. The girls on the stairs burst into gales of horrified titters, nudging one another. I hurried on down the hall and out onto the porch, little spots of anger on my cheeks.

  There was no reason why I should be angry. It was foolish, but I was consumed with rage. The man was outrageous. He was scandalous. He was abominable, and I was angry because he chose to devote himself to the healthy, robust Cornish girls while ignoring me completely. I held on to the railing, leaned forward to breath deeply of the fresh air. I was still slightly drunk, or I would not have had such feelings. Norman Wade meant nothing to me. He was just a nuisance, and I was delighted that he had not seen fit to bother me tonight, no matter how I looked in the elegant gown and emeralds. Billy Randall was a much more preferable companion. I wished that I had not snubbed him just now. I would have liked for Norman Wade to have seen me laughing with Billy and admiring his fine uniform.

  I leaned against the railing, looking out over the drive. The thick gray mists swirled around Falconridge, pressing closer and closer, but the Japanese lanterns glowed beautifully in the darkness, making pools of the color on the crushed shell drive, blue, red, green. They swayed gently in the wind, moving to and fro like fairy lights. Thunder rumbled, louder now, and there was a touch of moisture in the air. I hoped the storm held off until the party was over and the guests safely departed.

  The effects of the champagne were wearing off with the fresh air. My head was clearing. Behind me I could hear the muffled noise of the party, the laughter, the music, the voices shut off by the great door. I should go back inside soon, I thought, but it was relaxing to be out here, listening to the wind creaking the tree limbs and watching the colors of the lanterns glowing against the encroaching mists.

  There was a sudden surge of noise as the door was opened, shut off again when the heavy door closed. I saw the man silhouetted against the night, his profile sharp. I could not see his face, but I knew who he was. He didn’t say anything for a moment. He took out a cigar and lit it. In the glow of the match I could see his eyes, lowered to his task, intent on lighting the cigar. I turned away from him, catching my breath. I did not want to talk to him.

  “The guest of honor shouldn’t run away,” he said quietly.

  “I haven’t run away,” I replied. “I wanted some fresh air.”

  “Yes, it is rather stuffy inside. Also, it helps clear the head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All that champagne.”

  “You drank too much?” I asked.

  “I never touch the stuff. It’s too light. Whiskey is my drink. No, I was referring to you. Seven glasses, or was it eight? I may have missed one.”

  “You—you were watching me?”

  “Observing you, my dear.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  I was sorry I had said that. It indicated that I had been searching for him. I didn’t want him to think that, even if it were true. Norman Wade gave a little chuckle, as though he could read my thoughts. He took a step towards me. I stiffened. He was standing behind me now. I had an overwhelming sense of his presence. I could feel him there, his eyes on me. I could imagine his amused, slightly mocking smile.

  “Little girls shouldn’t drink too much champagne,” he said.

  “I am not a little girl.”

  “No? No, I suppose not. Not tonight, at any rate. You seem to have made quite an impression on the local swains. The gown, the hair, the poise—all that of a woman. A very beautiful woman, I might add. They were quite smitten with you. Little Billy Randall, for example.”

  “He’s a sweet boy,” I retorted.

  “A boy, yes. A
mere lad. Tell me, did any of the gentlemen ask you out? Tea at the family manse, perhaps, or riding, or an offer to escort you to church? All properly chaperoned, of course.”

  “What concern of yours is that?”

  “I must watch out for my little cousin.”

  “I’m not your cousin,” I replied, irritated.

  “Technically, no. Still, I must watch out for you. I wouldn’t want to see you get mixed up with a local blackguard, although I suppose Billy Randall is innocent enough.”

  “What I do is my business. You might look out for your own affairs. The young ladies seemed to be very interested. That little redhead in the awful pink dress.…”

  “So you noticed me talking to Arabella?”

  “I—I happened to pause in the hall on my way out here.”

  “Long enough to notice that her dress was awful,” he said, chuckling softly. “You’re right. It was.”

  “And those girls on the stairs.…”

  “Children of the local aristocracy, quite charming, all of them. Uncultured perhaps—they haven’t had the advantage of private schools and a cosmospolitan background—but endearing, every one of them. Very healthy lasses, all of whom can cook a hearty meal, shoe a horse, milk a cow and ride to the hounds with the best of them. They spend more time in the stables than in the parlor, I’m afraid, and I doubt if any one of them has read a book from cover to cover. They’ll make fine wives.”

  “Arabella, perhaps?”

  “Oh, yes, she’ll make a marvelous wife. She can even pitch hay, and her family is one of the wealthiest in the county. Our aristocrats are quite down to earth. Earthy. It’s only the pretenders who cultivate fine airs and grand manners.”

  I knew that he was mocking me, holding me up to ridicule in comparison with the Cornish girls. I was too angry to reply to his comments. He had been very affectionate with the girl named Arabella. I wondered if he was interested in her. Once again he seemed to read my thoughts.