The Lady of Lyon House

by Jennifer Wilde

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE WRESTLING MATCHES were over. The crowd spilled over the grounds once more, talking too loudly. The sky was a very dark blue, turning purple, the air thick with shadow. The musicians were playing at the pavilion. The sound drifted to where I stood, leaning against a deserted stall. In the distance I could see the Japanese lanterns, bobbing smears of color against the darkness. I saw a man stumbling towards me, and I hurried away, not wanting to be alone. Molly would be at the pavilion with Bertie. I did not know how long it would be before Edward would be ready to leave.

  The pavilion was surrounded by darkness, shadows thick all around it, but it was a jewel box of light and color. The lanterns swayed in the breeze, spilling splotehes of color on the dancers. Strapping country girls danced with muscular lads. The girls wore vivid dresses, the skirts flashing like butterfly wings as they whirled in the dance. The boys wore boots and dark pants and leather jerkins over white shirts, the sleeves gathered full about the wrists. Faces were flushed. Bodies moved furiously to the music. The noise of boots stomping the wooden floor reminded me of a cattle stampede; it almost drowned out the music. Boys seized girls about the waist, twirling them around. Music blared and bodies whirled. It was a moving frieze of energy and vigor, red blood and muscle.

  The music stopped and the dancers paused, chests heaving, foreheads beaded with sweat. I stood among the shadows, just outside the circle of lights, watching. I noticed a particularly beautiful girl with red-gold hair, wearing a yellow dress that had been fitted with men in mind. She swirled the skirts of her dress, swaying to and fro as a dozen boys surrounded her, each begging for the next dance. I heard one of them call her Connie. She must be the notorious baker’s daughter. I watched her as I might have watched a particularly exotic animal in a zoo.

  The music began again, and the stomping and whirling started once more. I saw Molly, radiant with her Bertie. I watched the dancing for a long time, and all the time I wondered when Edward would come. Time passed, and he still did not come. The dancers grew tired, and the music changed from rowdy polka to a slower, more sinuous sound. Bodies were closer together and faces were more expressive. Molly danced with her hand caressing the back of Bertie’s neck, her lips half parted. There was intimacy where there had been abandon, meaning in every movement.

  I felt isolated standing there in the shadows, watching something I was not part of. I felt like an orphan standing outside a grand house, watching a festive party through the opened windows. It was absurd, of course, but that was the feeling I had. I was very lonely, and I realized it without shame. My life had always been full of people, full of activity. The rich, crowded life in London was behind me now. I had been cast out, for reasons I could not understand. I was in a strange, alien part of the country, and I did not belong here. I had no one to turn to and I felt that lack very strongly now.

  Everything was in shadow now, only the dance pavilion brightly lit. Couples began to steal away, hand in hand. Shrubbery rustled. A cold night breeze sprang up. My arms and shoulders were cold. I was exhausted by all the activity and excitement of the day. I wanted to go back to Lyon House. I did not belong there, either, but at least I had a room of my own where I could brood in comfort.

  I felt rebuffed by Edward’s treatment of me. I was seeing facets of his character I had never suspected. He was charming and easy-going on the surface, but there was much more there than met the eye. He seemed to be bothered by something. Perhaps it was a gambling debt, I thought. That would explain his nervous restlessness today. Perhaps the strange man had come to collect money from Edward, money he didn’t have. Molly had mentioned something about Edward’s gambling. She said Corinne had scolded him about it and refused to pay his debts.

  I was thinking about this when I heard footsteps approaching. At first I thought it was Edward coming to fetch me and then I saw the two boys. They had both been drinking. I could smell the fumes. They were both large and blond, country boys who spent most of their time behind the plow and were unaccustomed to the spirit of revelry. Seeing me in the shadows, they stopped, grinning at one another. Evidently they had not been able to find a compliant wench, or they would have been moving about on the dancefloor with the others.

  I backed away a little, sensing trouble. As they came nearer, I had a feeling of unreality. Edward had jokingly predicted something like this. The boys came closer.

  “Hey, Rodd,” one of them said, “look here what I found. All ready ’n waitin’ for a good lookin’ fellow like me to come along. All by ’erself, too.”

  His voice was coarse and rather slurred. His shoulders strained against the material of his shirt, and his large brown hands hung down at his sides. He looked stupid and dangerous.

  “Ain’t fair,” the other said. “I saw ’er first, Clem.”

  “Find one for yourself. This un’s mine.”

  They glared at each other, fists clenched, neither looking at me. They were young and raw and ugly, and I might have been a pretty toy they had discovered. The one called Rodd pushed the other away, and he seized my arm before I could move. I was terrified.

  “Wanna dance, sweetheart?” he said.

  “No, thank you,” I said crisply, but my voice trembled.

  “Aw—come on. Be friendly.”

  “Let go of me.”

  He ignored the remark. He began to chuckle with delight, proud of his toy.

  “Shove off, laddies!”

  I recognized the voice immediately. He stepped out of the shadows and came towards us slowly, casually. The lad holding my arm looked completely bewildered.

  “Hey, who do ya think you are? This here’s—”

  “I said shove off!”

  The voice was harsh and menacing. Philip Ashley stood in a patch of moonlight, looming there like a demon. The boy saw the man’s face, and he released me immediately. Both of the boys stumbled away, reeling off into the darkness. Philip Ashley watched them leave. He arched a brow and turned to me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m a little shaken up, but—I’m all right.”

  “It seems I’ve done my good deed for the day,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Very foolish of you to stand about like this, alone. You should be in bed—with a glass of warm milk.”

  “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” I said icily.

  “So I’ve just observed,” he said, grinning.

  I blushed. This seemed to delight him.

  “Where is your Mr. Lyon?” he asked.

  “He’s—he’s talking with a friend.”

  “Conspiring would be a better word. That would be Mr. Herron.”

  “Herron?” I said.

  “I saw him earlier. Wondered what he was doing in these parts. He is a friend of your Mr. Lyon?”

  “I’ve never seen him before today.”

  Philip Ashley nodded his head. I could see his face very clearly, the moonlight sculpturing it in silver and shadow. It was sharp, all angles. The jagged line of the scar was like a black mark in the light. The dark eyes studied me.

  “Fortunate that you came along when you did,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he replied.

  “Or had you been there all along?”

  “All along?”

  “Watching me.”

  “Let’s say—watching over you.”

  “You admit it?”

  “I admit standing in the shadows, watching over you to see that nothing happened, to prevent any such episode as the one that I did indeed prevent.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I saw you wandering around the grounds alone. I saw it could lead to trouble. Does that satisfy you, lass, or do you have other questions?”

  “Why did you follow me in London?” I asked bluntly.

  “So you know about that?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I tried to stay concealed. I didn’t want to frighten you.”


  “And you came to the music hall afterwards to see me.”

  “I came to the music hall, yes, but not necessarily to see you.”

  “You left as soon as my act was through.”

  “Indeed I did.”

  “Explain that,” I demanded.

  “When the time comes,” he said.

  “I want to know now!”

  “Steady, lass. You’re losing control of yourself.”

  “Tell me,” I insisted.

  He laughed softly. I turned to leave.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked sharply.

  “I’m going to find Edward—Mr. Lyon.”

  “His job will be to find you,” Philip Ashley replied. “The damn fool must be out of his mind, letting you wander around like this. It would serve him right if something happened to you.”

  “I don’t need a chaperone,” I said angrily.

  “But you have one,” he said. He gripped my arm firmly.

  “You’re insufferable,” I said.

  “Then you’ll have to suffer.”

  “Will you let go of me, Mr. Ashley?”

  “No, I won’t. You’re coming with me.”

  “I most certainly shall not,” I replied.

  “You have no choice in the matter. I’m bigger than you are and far stronger.”

  “You’re making fun of me!”

  “I’m stating a fact. Come along.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down by the river.”

  “If you think—”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s quiet there, and we can see the fireworks. Your gallant Mr. Lyon should be ready to leave by the time they are over, and perhaps he’ll remember that he is responsible for you.”

  “What do you know about Edward Lyon?”

  “Enough, lass,” he said.

  I did not say anything more. I walked quietly beside Philip Ashley. It seemed all the energy had been drained out of me. I was still weak from the encounter with the two country roughs. We walked past the dark, deserted stalls, stepping over the litter of the day. Now I could hear the river rushing along the banks. The lights and music of the dance pavilion were far behind us now. The music was like a faint, tinny echo, the lights mere colored shadows in the distance. I felt the cold night air on my shoulders, and I shivered. The ground was damp, marshy, and all around us the shrubbery rustled. Philip Ashley led me to a bench beneath an immense oak tree, by the river’s edge. He motioned for me to sit down, and I obeyed.

  “What do you propose to do now?” I asked tartly.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “I want to go home.”

  “That’s too bad. You’ll wait.”

  “You are the most abominable—”

  “Shut up,” he said harshly. “I’ve had enough out of you for the time being. I’m not enjoying this a bit more than you are, lass. If I didn’t think you’d be carried off by ruffians, I’d turn you loose.”

  “Why should you care what happened to me?” I snapped.

  “I said shut up,” he replied, his voice husky.

  It was calm and serene. The water rippled with silver shavings of moonlight. A frog leaped from a log and plopped into the water. The smell of the milkweed blended with that of damp earth and dead leaves. The sky was very black, softly gilded with moonlight. I was consumed with anger, my cheeks hot, my mouth pursed tightly. I wanted to throw something at this boorish creature who kept me captive, and yet I was curiously flattered at the same time. At least he showed some concern for me, which was more than Edward had done. I knew that I should have been afraid of him, but I wasn’t.

  “What do you want of me?” I asked.

  “From you? Nothing, my dear.”

  “Why did you follow me the other night?” I asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “The night before last, in the woods.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You were watching me. You followed me.”

  “No,” he said, “I didn’t.”

  “You followed me in London. You were watching me tonight—”

  “But I did not follow you in the woods.”

  “Then—who did?”

  “Tell me about it,” he said. His voice was strangely heavy. He stood with his head cocked to one side, listening very intently while I told him what had happened. In the moonlight, his face was grim. He looked angry, and I could see him tense.

  “Damn fool!” he said.

  “Who?”

  “You should be kept locked up, you know. If you’re not a part of all this—”

  “A part of what?”

  He ignored the question. “You’re certain of this? You’re absolutely sure you didn’t just imagine it?”

  “That’s what Edward thought. No one will believe me.”

  “I believe you,” he said.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t understand any of it.”

  “You will,” he replied, “in time.”

  Philip Ashley knew something, but he did not intend to tell me. I looked down at my hands in my lap. I wanted to cry with frustration. They all seemed to be in a conspiracy of silence, even this man. There was something behind all that silence, and it threatened me. Why did they refuse to let me know what was going on?

  “Why should I believe you?” I asked. “Why should I? I know you followed me in London, I know you followed me tonight. Why should I believe you when you say it wasn’t you in the woods?”

  “You have a nice point there.”

  “I—I don’t know if I believe you or not.”

  “No. Then you should be terrified. I could easily toss you into the river here and now.”

  “You could—”

  “And I might just do that if you don’t be quiet. I’m thinking. I want you to be still.”

  “Be still yourself!” I said irritably.

  Philip Ashley laughed harshly. The sound was diabolical there in the darkness. He scooped up a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water. Each one made a loud splash as it hit the surface. A frog croaked angrily. Crickets chirped near the base of the tree, and the buzzing of insects filled the air. When he had thrown all the pebbles, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the trunk of the tree. His face was silhouetted by the moonlight, the sharp nose prominent, the jaw thrust out. He seemed to be oblivious to my presence. I found that more intolerable than his insults.

  “You made quite an impression on Mrs. Crandall,” I remarked after a while.

  “A most unusual lady,” he said. “Most unusual.”

  “She was greatly impressed with your gin.”

  “Guzzled damn near a whole bottle of it,” he said. “I’ve never seen the likes of it.”

  “That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?” I said.

  “Unfair?”

  “Getting her drunk in order to pump her for information.”

  “Is that what I was doing?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps. She had some interesting things to say.”

  “Corinne was furious. She claims she’s never laid eyes on you before in her life.”

  “Perhaps she hasn’t.”

  “Why are you so interested in us?” I asked bluntly.

  “Let’s just say I have a great curiosity about my neighbors,” he replied glibly.

  “I wish I knew who you were.”

  “Philip Ashley, painter and scoundrel, at your service.”

  “Why are you here? What are you after? I know you didn’t come to Devonshire just to paint.”

  “Very perceptive of you.”

  “I’m going to tell Edward all about this. I’m going to tell him everything you’ve said.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Philip Ashley replied quietly.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Who are you? What do you intend to do?”

  He chuckled. “A very sinister character,
” he said. “Perhaps I am planning some heinous crime. Don’t get in my way. It suits me to spare you at the moment, but later on I may have no such qualms. Stay out of my way and behave yourself.”

  “I almost believe you,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised at any thing you might do. Anyone who would get a poor, befuddled woman drunk and then laugh at her is capable of anything foul.”

  “Quite capable,” he remarked casually.

  We lapsed into silence. I wondered about this man with his cynical poise and his mocking tongue. He bewildered me and irritated me, and I was unable to resist his fascination. I told myself that I hated him, and I should have been afraid, yet I felt strangely secure here with him, and I was glad he had brought me. My headache was gone. I seemed to be vibrantly alive with every fiber of my being. Philip Ashley had caused this. I did not know how or why, but I secretly reveled in the feeling.

  “Will you at least tell me who Mr. Herron is?” I asked.

  “A chap from London.”

  “I wonder what he could be seeing Edward about.”

  “I wonder that myself.”

  “Is Mr. Herron a friend of yours?” I asked.

  “I had dealings with him once.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Not well, but well enough not to like him.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Nothing you would be interested in, my lass. You’re asking far too many questions. I shall lose patience any moment now, and you’ll surely regret it.”

  “No one tells me anything,” I said, frustrated.

  “Then you are most fortunate,” he remarked.

  “Everyone treats me like a child!”

  “You’re acting like one now, my dear.”

  We were silent as the first flare of the fireworks display lit up the sky. A rocket shot across the darkness, exploding into particles of silvery—blue fire that drifted slowly down and faded. There was another, powdering the sky with green flakes, then red, then gold. It was incredibly beautiful. Each time a rocket was shot there was a loud explosion of noise, then the silent explosion of beauty in the sky. I saw sparklers, glittering, spinning in silver wheels. I could hear the voices of spectators in the distance exclaiming their delight. The display lasted for fifteen minutes, dazzling, overwhelming, and when it was over the sky seemed darker than before and the wind was cold.