by Louise Allen
God, he wanted this over, he wanted her out of danger, clear of the Nugents and their schemes. And he wanted her alone so he could rebuild what was between them, make up for the hurt he had given her, make her his wife if she would ever agree to that now. The remarkable brown eyes, which were haunting his dreams, were fixed on his face. Her expression was one of polite anticipation, but her gaze held questions, and a trust that he only hoped he could fulfil.
Time to begin. ‘Fifty-four years ago a local gentleman had a cottage on this site demolished in order to build the house we are guests in this evening. It was to be a speculative venture apparently, for not long after it was finished a young widow moved in as a tenant. She was expecting a child and soon gained the sympathy of her neighbours with her tragic story, for her husband, a merchant, had been lost at sea during a voyage to the West Indies. She was retiring and well bred and, although very beautiful, she repulsed tactfully the hopeful advances of a number of local bachelors. This enhanced her standing amongst the matrons of the village.’ A murmur of amusement ran around the room.
Guy dropped his voice a fraction so that they had to concentrate to hear. ‘No one appeared to notice the strange coincidence that the lady, Mrs Parrish, should be called Diana when the house carried the sign of the moon above the door. The sign of Diana the huntress. Her daughter was born in January of the next year, a child promising to be as lovely as her mother, and was welcomed into local life as was her mother. It could not have been a more respectable little household and it was noted how very discreet Mrs Parrish was, for the only gentleman ever seen to enter the house alone was the vicar.’
‘What was not seen, however, was that her landlord was also her lover and entered the house nightly by a secret entrance that had been built in from the beginning. For the name of the house was no coincidence and the local gentleman, far from being the complacent husband of a difficult and sickly wife, had been carrying on an affair with Mrs Parrish, a talented actress, for more than four years.’ Was this going to be too shocking for the strict mamas in the audience? Guy watched Mrs Redland for her reaction, but saw only fascination and a dawning awareness on her angular face.
‘All went well. Diana was discreet, her child grew lovelier by the day and her lover managed his double life with such skill that his family never suspected a thing. His only failing was to forget that all men, even those in love, are mortal. His death at the age of forty of a seizure, one day before his daughter’s third birthday, was utterly unexpected. His grieving widow left all matters in the hands of her son, an arrogant cub of seventeen who lost no time in going through his father’s papers where he discovered ample proof of just what the older man had meant by calling the Moon House an investment.’
‘Accompanied by three grooms, he descended on the Moon House and forced his way into Diana’s dressing room, where she was sitting at her dressing table clad in only her night rail. Imagine if you can her state of mind that morning.’ Again he dropped his voice a little. The audience was leaning forward in its chairs, he could feel the intensity of Hester’s gaze on him, but dared not look at her and risk losing his thread.
‘Three days ago her lover, a man she loved deeply, her only source of support, had died without warning, leaving her with a child and her only possession of value, a wonderful rope of pearls which she always wore. She had just twisted it about her neck: perhaps she was stroking it, remembering the night he gave it to her, remembering the words he had spoken.
‘Then her door was forced open. With her child screaming with fear, her maid brutally forced from the room, she had the pearls torn from her neck, the nightgown ripped from her body, leaving her naked and humiliated in front of those men. Her lover’s son gave her an hour to pack and leave, his henchmen threw her clothes on to the floor so she had to scrabble on her hands and knees to gather up what she could, her baby hanging around her neck, terrified, seeing violence and hearing raised voices for the first time in her life.’
‘They threw her out of the house with her child, the clothes they stood up in and one valise. She had two sovereigns in her reticule. The snow was thick on the ground, the wind harsh, Behind her she could hear the sounds of men wrecking her home; perhaps even the sound of a knife ripping through the canvas of her portrait, which hung over the fireplace in the dining room.’
There were gasps as people remembered the picture that Hester had restored, then Mrs Bunting said, ‘The poor creature. Whatever became of her?’
‘She caught the stagecoach to London, that much is known. Then, who can say?’
There was the sound of a sob-Miss Redland had a softer heart than her frivolous exterior betrayed. Hester, when he risked a glance at her, was white to the lips.
‘The Moon House stayed empty for many years. Around it grew up a mystery and tales of tragedy, for no one beyond the family of Diana’s lover knew what had happened. A story of haunting grew, and strange details were added to the legend; many swore that the scent of roses lingered around the house, even when the flowers were not in bloom, for in Diana’s day the house was surrounded by a garden of great charm, filled with her favourite roses.
‘Then the grandchildren of her lover inherited, but by then the house had been sold.’ A small gasp interrupted him: at last they were thinking about what he was saying, not as a story but as history, and the identity of Diana’s lover must be obvious to everyone. ‘These heirs found the papers telling of the building of the house and found the secret way in, They also found love letters referring to a treasure hidden in the house, a secret known only to Diana and her lover. They needed money and they were greedy. Lights were seen in the days before Miss Lattimer moved in, but nothing was found and now she was in residence: how could they search?’
Somehow he was holding their attention. No one spoke, although eyes were turning towards the Nugents, who sat like statues in the front row. ‘Their only hope was to force Miss Lattimer to leave, but she would not sell. She must be scared away, and so a new haunting of the Moon House began. They almost killed Miss Lattimer’s butler in the process, they terrified her companion and maidservant, they harassed her beyond what any lady might be expected to stand and they told a tale of tragedy and death walking, coming closer with the changing phases of the moon.’
He paused, counting heartbeats. One… two…three… four. ‘But they disturbed something with their blasphemous meddling, and now, it seems, Diana’s spirit has returned in truth. The moon is waning…’
As he spoke the room was suddenly filled with the scent of roses, as shocking as it was lovely, wreathing through the air like a summer’s evening in deepest December. Mrs Bunting gave a sudden gasp and all the candles but the branch by Guy’s side went out. His cue. Now. He started to his feet, ‘What the hell?’
A cold wind blew through the room, sending the candle flames guttering and the flames in the fire dancing, their reflection casting a devilish glow across frightened faces. Then the heavy curtains over the door at his side fluttered as though they were merely gauze and parted and a figure appeared. All in white, its long golden hair falling in ringlets around its shoulders, a great rope of pearls falling across its milky pale bosom, it turned slowly to face the audience and stretched out a hand.
The scream when it came wrenched Hester from her state of shock. By her side Sarah Nugent was on her feet, but it was not she who had uttered that ghastly noise, it was her brother. Sir Lewis had his hands thrown up to ward off the spectre, his face was contorted in the strange light, but everyone heard his voice.
‘You’re dead, you whore, you’re dead…get away from me…it’s ours, all the money’s ours, he bled the family dry for you, you whore. If she had only seen sense, only sold-’
The vicious slap his sister cracked across his cheek silenced him and he recoiled from her, his hands still to his face. Hester stared round the room; the audience was transfixed, the spectre of Diana had vanished as silently as it had appeared. ‘You fool!’ Sarah snarled. ‘Now get us out o
f this!’
She seized Hester’s arm, spinning her into Lewis’s arms and he grabbed hold of her with the strength of desperation. Hester struggled, then she was pushed away as a small figure hurtled into Sir Lewis like a terrier on a rabbit. There was a thump, a cry and the baronet was doubled up, retching and clutching his groin.
‘Are you all right, Miss Hester?’ Jethro caught her and held her. ‘I kicked him in the gingambobs, he won’t be going anywhere now.’
‘I know you did, Jethro. Well done. Thank you.’ Hester turned in his embrace and stared at the chaos that her kitchen had become.
A group of thickset men erupted from the cupboard where the ghost had come from and held the Nugents firmly between them while one repelled Mrs Bunting, who seemed intent on doing physical harm to both of her neighbours. ‘Wicked, wicked,’ she was repeating. Miss Redland had fainted neatly into the arms of the curate, but for once her mother was paying no attention, instead listening, as they all were, to Sir Jeremy Evelyn.
‘… powers invested in me as magistrate I arrest you, Lewis Nugent, and you. Sarah Nugent, for breaking and entering, assault, causing grievous bodily harm… yes, Vicar-?’ he broke off to listen to Mr Bunting’s agitated whisper ‘-theft and the improper disposal of human remains. These constables will take you to Aylesbury where you will await trial.’
‘I demand a lawyer.’ Sarah was not yielding one inch, although at her side her brother was sobbing now.
‘Certainly, ma’am.’ Mr Earle stepped forward. ‘I am at your disposal. You are going to need all the help you can get.’ His smile was not reassuring.
As they were bundled out of the door, Hester looked round for Guy and found him interrogating Mr Bunting. His face when he came over to her was stiff with anger. ‘Why did you not tell me about the hand?’
‘There was nothing you could do about it.’ She felt too tired now to explain.
‘It was in your bed?’
Why was he so angry with her? She had not put the sad, grisly relic there. ‘Yes, on the pillow. Guy, please, I am sorry to be ungrateful, but I wish you would just go away and take all these people with you.’
There was a long silence while he stood looking at her, the anger still hot in his eyes. ‘Very well, Hester. I will go away and leave you in peace.’ To her surprise he did not argue but did just that, taking Sir Jeremy and the remaining constable with him.
‘Oh.’ Hester sank down on her chair, prey to a feeling of complete anticlimax. Susan was lighting the candles again and Maria, showing far more firmness that usual, was ushering people out of the room and sending Jethro and the footmen to retrieve wraps and coats. ‘Such a shock for all of us, I know you will forgive us for ending the evening so abruptly.’
Her voice faded away as the door shut and Hester leaned back, blinking at the firelight. So it was all over now. The ghost laid, the Nugents routed and Guy at last ready to leave and forget her. She closed her lids; how foolish to stare into the glow like that, it had made her eyes water. I will feel better soon, she told herself, not so tired, better able to manage. This is just shock making me feel so dizzy.
Hester opened her eyes and found the ghost of Diana Parrish standing looking down at her. ‘Hello,’ said the ghost wearily, revealing herself to be Georgiana Broome. ‘Men are very good at this sort of drama, are they not? But not very expert at managing the aftermath. Has my brother gone?’
‘Yes.’ Hester gestured at the chair next to her, too disorientated to ask why Georgiana no longer appeared to think her a scarlet woman. ‘He is angry with me.’ She explained about the skeletal hand.
Lady Broome sighed and sat down, extending a hand to the flames. ‘That cupboard is freezing. I wonder how long it will take the smell to go away-that was an entire bottle of rose essence which went on to the fire. Oh, let me give you these back.’ She lifted the pearls from round her neck and handed them to Hester.
‘Thank you, but I could not possibly take them, they are so valuable-and, in any case I rather think they are yours. You are her granddaughter, are you not?’
‘Yes.’ Georgiana continued to hold out the rope of milky orbs. ‘I insist, please take them. She would have liked you to have it, you have her sort of courage.’
‘What happened to her and her child?’ Hester took the pearls reluctantly and let them run through her fingers, thinking of the woman who had once owned them. It was strange to be sitting here at peace in a sort of exhausted truce with the woman who had crushed her hopes of love and happiness with a few words.
‘The child was our mother Allegra. Diana struggled to stay alive in London. Mama could remember very little of that, other than being cold and hungry and it always being noisy. Then, when Allegra was eight, Diana found employment in the home of Lady Theodora Westrope. She soon rose to become a trusted companion and Allegra was brought up with Theodora’s favourite nephew, our father, who in the fullness of time became the Earl of Buckland and married his childhood playmate.’
‘We knew nothing of this until my mother was dying, then she called us both to her and told us everything, gave us the papers Diana had left. Like a fool I wanted to leave things as they were, not admit to having an actress for a grandmother and a mother born out of wedlock, but Guy wanted the Moon House-I think as a sort of reparation for what had happened to Diana, to bring it back to the woman it was intended for.’
‘And he could not tell me why he wanted to buy it because it was your story too and he knew you would not want it known.’
The two women sat in silence for a while, then Georgiana said, ‘I am more sorry than I can say about blurting out the scandal of your position with Colonel Norton. Miss Prudhome came to see me and told me the truth.’
‘What?’ Hester was startled out of her exhaustion. ‘How dare she?’
‘She dared because she loves you,’ Lady Broome replied. ‘And she made me promise not to tell Guy. She said that my opinion did not matter provided I did not spread the rumour, but that if he did not come to disbelieve it of his own accord there was no hope for the two of you.’
That was true. How brave of Maria to dare her wrath and the scorn of the haughty Lady Broome. Who was apparently not so haughty after all. ‘Does he believe it?’
‘I think perhaps he must after all,’ Georgiana replied sadly. ‘Otherwise, why does he not come and speak to you about it?’
There was a scratch on the door and Jethro came in with a folded note on a salver. Hester recognised the bold, black handwriting and reached out her hand, but he shook his head. ‘For Lady Broome, Miss Hester.’
Politely Hester stood up and moved away, leaving Georgiana to read the message. ‘Have they all gone, Jethro? What were they saying?’ It was possible to carry on, even through a haze of shock and exhaustion, even if your heart was quite broken.
‘Yes, Miss Hester. They were all very shocked, of course, but I don’t believe, once they started thinking about it, that they were very surprised.’
There was an exclamation from Lady Broome who was holding two sheets of notepaper covered in Guy’s sprawling hand and looking at Hester with an expression she could not read. ‘He has gone to London.’ She looked down at the letter again and murmured, ‘Will there be enough time?’
‘For you to carry out the Christmas preparations in his absence? I am sure you can leave it all to Parrott,’ Hester assured her. ‘Parrott can manage anything.’ Did she imagine it, or did Lady Broome mutter, But not this?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Moon House was easy enough to set to rights after the party, but local society was in a turmoil that apparently would not be calmed without endless repetition, and exaggeration, of the facts.
Hester, wanting nothing more than to sit and mourn Guy’s loss, found herself receiving one visitor after another, each intent on telling her how brave she had been and how they had never trusted the Nugents. Even the villagers had their own way of finding out what was going on and Ben Aston seemed to have no other work than to hang a
round chopping wood and bringing in kindling for Susan.
‘Christmas Eve tomorrow.’ Hester said brightly, far more brightly than she felt. She was no worse off than she had been before Guy Westrope had entered her life, she told herself robustly, o why was she feeling so very sorry for herself now when she was secure in her home and all danger was past? ‘We must wrap our presents and find a Yule log and do as much cooking as we can so that Christmas Day is a holiday.’
‘I did promise Lady Broome that I would spend some time with her tomorrow, if that is all right, Hester dear?’ Maria looked anxious and faintly agitated, and Hester had not the heart to point out there was plenty to keep her occupied at home. If this new friendship helped bring Maria out of her shell, so much the better. She had already spent several hours at the Old Manor. Hester had said nothing about her breach of confidence: much good had come from it and she had shown more perception than Hester had credited her with in not telling Guy the truth.
Oh, why was she thinking about him again? The entire village seemed empty without him, she felt lonely and abandoned, yet she knew where he was-in London, doubtless on important business-and his whereabouts should be of no concern to her now in any case.
Put it off as she might, bedtime came round with a horrible inevitability and Hester took herself upstairs reluctantly, knowing she was facing another night when sleep would prove elusive. Susan tucked her up, muttering something about some laundry she must set to soak overnight and Hester was left alone in the flickering light of the fire to watch the waning moon through her uncurtained window. I really must do something about the shutters and some curtains, she thought. That at least was a practical thing to occupy her mind as she lay awake in the dark. Repair the shutters, of course, but what about the curtains? Silk again, or would dimity be pretty?