“And when you have won him?”
“I shall be the Marchioness of Vulcan,” Lady Isabel cried. “What a triumph it would be! For a whole year I have been pining away.”
Serena laughed.
“I am sorry, but you don’t look as if you have been pining. You are so lovely, so gay and so alive.”
“Faugh, I told you that we ought not to be friends,” Isabel said in mock severity. “How dare you say I am not pining! I think of Justin day and night. I lie awake because of him. I have even come here today, a monstrously uncomfortable journey from London, just to see him.”
“It was kind of you to bring my cousin with you.”
Isabel looked at her for a moment and then her eyes twinkled.
“Kind?” she questioned. “Shall I tell you the truth or have you guessed it?”
“You wanted to learn from him all you could about me?” Serena ventured.
“Correct!” Lady Isabel exclaimed. “And I promise you I learned very little. Nicholas persisted in talking about himself. I could not keep the conversation away from him.”
“Which meant, of course, that he was talking about you,” Serena smiled.
Isabel threw back her head and laughed.
“An absorbing topic, you must admit.”
“Poor Nicholas, he loves you so much.”
“Yes, I know, and never was there such a dull fellow. ‘Pray, Isabel, give me your attention’ and ‘Isabel, I beg of you – ’. Lord, what fools these men be with their begging and their praying, their pleading and their whining. That is what I like about Justin, he asks favours of no one.”
“But Nicholas would always be very kind to you.”
“Kind?” Isabel asked scornfully. “Who wants kindness? I would rather a man beat me than cosseted me. And I swear I would adore one who was brutal. They are all too polite nowadays.”
She stretched out her arms, her eyes narrowed a little as if she was thinking of strange delights to be found in the arms of those who were not too polite to love passionately and with an unappeased desire.
Then she looked at Serena and her face broke again into one of her entrancing smiles.
“Are you going to help me?” she asked.
“To do what?” Serena questioned.
“To marry Justin. Say you will.”
Serena shook her head.
“I want you to marry Nicholas. He is the nicest person I know and if you but knew it you would be very happy with him.”
“Faugh, but you are baming!” Lady Isabel exclaimed.
“No, I am quite serious,” Serena said, “and Nicholas being my cousin has my first consideration. I shall help him in every way I can to marry you.”
Isabel laughed again and then she jumped to her feet and put her arms round Serena.
“I love you, I swear I do,” she said. “I never anticipated such fun would come from this visit. I shall try and win Justin from you and you will try to marry me to Nicholas.”
“You cannot win Justin from me,” Serena answered, “for he is not mine to give you. The Marchioness is determined that I shall marry someone else. Anyone, she is not particular who it is.”
“Gammon! Is the Marchioness involved in this?” Isabel asked. “Then, Serena, for I may call you that, may I, we must be careful.”
“Why?” Serena enquired.
“Because the Marchioness invariably gets what she wants. She has some hold over Justin. I don’t know what it is, I wish I did. When she sends for him, he hurries to her side, if she wants something, invariably he fetches it for her. It is whispered – ” and Isabel, looking around her, lowered her voice, “that he goes to the gaming tables on her insistence and that when he wins she takes the money.”
“But they must have so much.”
“Yes, but look what they spend,” Isabel answered, “and there is more to it than that. There are many people who say that this house is mighty convenient for many of my Lady’s activities.”
“You mean her gaming?” Serena asked.
Isabel shook her head.
“No, no. ’Tis only a rumour, of course, but the sea is very convenient for those who are interested in things that come from across the Channel.”
“Do you mean – ?” Serena asked.
“Exactly what I say,” Isabel answered and then added in triumph, “Look at your dress, Serena. In the whole length and breadth of Bond Street one could not purchase even a yard of such material. I will stake my life on that.”
“You mean – that the Marchioness smuggles?” Serena whispered.
“I am by no means the only person who says so,” Isabel replied.
Chapter Seven
The sunshine was warm on Serena’s head and after a moment she set down the embroidery that busied her fingers and laid her head against the wooden window frame.
She closed her eyes.
She could hear the wash of the waves on the rocks below the cliffs. She could smell the salty fragrance of the sea on the soft air blowing into her bedchamber.
Here she could be quiet and at ease. Torqo slept on the floor at her feet. Eudora was at hand in the next room. There was nothing to disturb her save the busy hum of a bee imprisoned against a pane of glass.
Suddenly Isabel burst into the room and Torqo jumped to his feet with a deep growl, which changed into a yelp of joy and a wagging of his tail when he saw who had entered.
“Down, Torqo!” Serena called as he bounded towards Isabel.
“Mind he does not spoil your gown,” she added hastily.
“I care not what he does, he is a beautiful boy,” Isabel said, patting the dog as he nuzzled against her, delighted by her attention. “But put on your bonnet quickly, Serena. We are going to Dover.”
“To Dover?” Serena echoed in surprise. “Why?”
“I declare it is the most thrilling adventure,” Isabel exclaimed. “We are to see a smuggler.”
“A smuggler!”
“Yes, to see him and perhaps to converse with him,” Isabel replied. “It is Nicholas who has arranged it all. The Colonel of the Dragoon Guards was talking with him yester eve and he told Nicholas about this man. A desperate character, it appears, whom the soldiers caught red-handed unloading stores from France. There was a hot fight and some of the smugglers got away, but this man, the ringleader of them all, was taken prisoner. The Colonel said that the Dragoons have been after him for years, he is known to have murdered no less than three men in cold blood and a score of Excisemen have been wounded by him and his band. Come, Serena, there is no time to be lost. The coach will be round at any moment.”
“I don’t think I wish to see a smuggler,” Serena said quietly.
“Not wish to see him?” Isabel echoed in astonishment. “Really, Serena, I don’t understand you. When Nicholas and Gilly said they were going off by themselves I nearly cried with chagrin. It was with the greatest difficulty that I persuaded Nicholas to make it a party and now a number of us are to accompany them and you must come too.”
“Who else will be with you?” Serena asked.
“Oh, but I cannot recollect,” Isabel said. “It has all been decided so swiftly, but I know that Lady Greyshields insists on coming with us for one and Harry Wrotham for another.”
Serena sat up very straight.
“You know, Isabel, that I would go nowhere if it meant that I should be in close proximity to Lord Wrotham.”
“Pish! I had forgotten,” Isabel exclaimed. “How tiresome you are, Serena, to continue your feud against him! I vow that he admires you vastly. Why, he was singing your praises all afternoon until I was ready to swoon with boredom, preferring to hear people talk about my own face.”
“Which they invariably do,” Serena smiled. “But I would take it as a compliment if my name did not cross Lord Wrotham’s lips. I hate him, Isabel, and I will never forgive him, never, for what he did to my poor Charmaine.”
“Oh, Serena, and that means that you will deny us your company to Dover?’
“Believe me, Isabel, I have no desire to see your smuggler, a brutal murderer who has killed three men in cold blood.”
“Faugh, but you are squeamish! I have told you before that I like men who are rough and brutal and it will give me a thrill even to look at this creature.”
“Then go and enjoy yourself,” Serena said, “and Torqo and I will stay here and be happy by ourselves.”
“I declare you have quite spoilt my pleasure in the adventure. I wanted you to come with us. But if you are so obstinate I must make shift with your cousin Nicholas. I would not miss seeing the man for the price of my diamond necklace.”
Isabel dropped a light kiss on Serena’s cheek, patted Torqo and with a wave of her hand swept from the room, leaving behind her the fragrance of an expensive perfume and a disrupted atmosphere of excitement and gaiety.
Serena smiled to herself as she picked up her embroidery again. She liked Isabel, in fact it would have been true to say that she loved her. Impetuous and reckless, she had yet the singleness of heart and the happy sunny nature of a child.
A spoilt child, it was true, but nevertheless a child. Although she had lived in raffish Society, it had not hurt her intrinsically and Serena had already learned that, while she would rush hot-headed after some new project, she would cry sincere and heart-breaking tears over a sad story of poverty and want and be prepared to give away even the very gown from off her back if it would help someone in distress.
It was impossible not to be fond of Isabel and Serena knew that already she valued her friendship.
But Lord Wrotham remained an enemy whom she could neither forgive nor forget.
With a sense of dismay she had learned that he had come to Mandrake for a long visit. He was, it appeared, a very old friend of the Marchioness and, while it would not have been difficult in so large a house party to avoid him, Serena was well aware that he was deliberately seeking her company on every possible occasion.
In the gaming rooms she would find him by her side. He would talk to her whether she willed it or not and although she was as curt to him as she dared be she had no wish to cause a scene or attract attention to herself by being openly discourteous to him.
Since Lord Vulcan’s intercession the first night of Lord Wrotham’s arrival she had not been placed next to him at dinner and she had the idea that the Marquis had spoken to his mother and they had argued about this very matter. She was not certain, however, of this, but she did know that Lord Wrotham was determined for some obscure reason of his own to reinstate himself and gain her friendship.
She was equally determined that never would she forget the misery that he had caused Charmaine, but she was aware that most people would think that she was exaggerating or making too much of what should be dismissed as just an unfortunate episode in the life of a man about town.
Isabel for one had laughed at her for her insistence on his depravity and treachery.
“After all, Serena,” she had said, “the girl did run away with him. She could not have been so bird-witted as to expect that someone in Harry Wrotham’s position would marry her. You say she was the daughter of your father’s groom. She must have known that she was throwing her bonnet over the windmill, but for a girl like that to be a Nobleman’s ‘bit of muslin’ is sometimes infinitely preferable to the stolid respectability of domestic service.”
“But you don’t understand, Isabel,” Serena replied. “Lord Wrotham made Charmaine love him. She trusted him – ”
“In which case she was a fool,” Isabel interrupted. “No one would trust Harry Wrotham unless they were foxed or crazy.”
Serena laughed and gave up trying to explain to Isabel what she felt about Lord Wrotham. Sometimes she thought that her only ally where he was concerned was the Marquis. She felt instinctively that he too disliked the man, but she had no concrete grounds for believing this because Lord Vulcan treated all his guests with an equality of indifferent courtesy.
Serena went on sewing until Torqo jumped up on the wide window seat beside her and whined.
“You want to go out in the sunshine, don’t you?” Serena said promptly. “Very well then, we will.”
She opened the door of her room and called for Eudora. A few minutes later, wearing a shawl of blue cashmere to match the blue ribbon on her straw bonnet, she went into the garden.
She and Torqo had discovered a way that led onto the downlands from the formal confines of the garden. Here they could walk along the edge of the cliffs, hear the waves thundering below and feel the sharp wind blowing breathlessly against them.
Serena liked walking. She had grown used to it at Staverley where it was seldom that she had the chance of driving in her father’s curricle and for lack of horses and grooms the family coach had gradually ceased to be used.
Isabel, on the contrary, never walked if she could drive and she had warned Serena that her feet would grow larger if she insisted on taking so much exercise.
“I am a country girl,” Serena replied with a smile, but Isabel answered,
“You don’t look it in your new gowns.”
It was true enough. Serena’s new wardrobe was amazingly becoming. There were so many garments that Eudora declared crossly that she was quite bemused by them. But poor Eudora was jealous.
Yvette’s clever French fingers could fashion anything from a ball gown to a bow of ribbon so that it appeared to have come straight from the very latest Court dressmaker and Eudora, looking at the discarded muslins that she herself had made with so much labour and care, could only mutter ominous warnings under her breath while at the same time her heart rejoiced because the gowns framed and enhanced Serena’s beauty.
Serena had tried to thank the Marchioness, but her thanks had been brushed to one side.
“If you wish to reveal your gratitude, child,” she said brusquely, “you can pay attention to the compliments that will be offered to you by the other sex. Take my advice and don’t bother about women in your life. It is men that matter.”
There were certainly plenty of men to be found at Mandrake and Serena, on her guard because she knew that she was being dangled before them as a bait weighted with gold, was more frigid in her reception of their advances than she would ever have been had she met them under different circumstances.
It was difficult for her at any time, however, to be aloof or even apprehensive or depressed for long. The sunshine and the fresh air routed even the most sober thoughts.
Now she ran along the cliffs with Torqo and was conscious as they turned back towards Mandrake that her curls were disarranged beneath her bonnet and that her cheeks were flushed.
She made up her mind to regain her room without meeting anyone and, avoiding the front entrance to the house, she crept through the walled gardens to a small door in the old part of the house, which she guessed should be somewhere directly below her own apartment.
She had noticed that the servants used it when coming into the garden with a message and she hoped that it would be unlocked. She was right, the door was open and she found herself in a long oak-panelled passage, which, after winding for some way, came out at the foot of a flight of narrow stairs that she had never seen before.
She was just going to climb the stairs when she heard someone coming.
Wishing to remain unobserved she drew to one side, and found that by standing in the turn of the passage she could be hidden in the shadows while able to observe who was approaching.
To her astonishment the person coming down the stairs was the Marchioness. She was wearing a dress of emerald-green silk that rustled as she walked and in her hand she held her favourite ivory stick with its jewelled handle.
Hastily, feeling like a child who has been caught playing truant, Serena patted her curls and strove to tidy the windswept ribbons of her bonnet, but even as she fidgeted the Marchioness reached the foot of the stairs.
She stood for a moment looking at the opposite wall and then, as Serena gaped in amazement, disappeared.
>
Serena could hardly believe her eyes and then she stepped from the doorway and looked for a door in the wall that the Marchioness must have passed through. But the wall was covered in panelling and there was no door.
Serena stood staring, half-inclined to rub her eyes and think that she had seen a ghost. Then she remembered that she was in the old part of the castle. Of course, there must be a secret entrance here hidden in the panelling.
Curiosity overcame her fear and she drew nearer instead of hurrying up the stairs as she should have done. There had been a Priest hole at Staverley reached by a tiny twisting stairway that could be found through a concealed panelled door in her father’s bedchamber.
Serena recalled how the oak aperture in the panelling had worked. One pressed a tiny scroll in the carving. Her fingers searched now. She found a tiny knot of wood, pressed it and then with a sudden exclamation knew that she had discovered the secret of the Marchioness’s disappearance.
A panel of wood opened silently and smoothly.
“You are interested in panelling?” a voice said behind her, startling her so much that she released the panel, pushing it to and turned round with an inescapable feeling of guilt. Halfway down the stairs, with a riding crop in his hand and a dog at his heels, stood Lord Vulcan.
“I-I was – just – looking,” Serena stammered.
“So I perceive,” the Lord Vulcan said. “I repeat, you are interested in panelling?”
He came slowly down the staircase and Serena could only stand staring at him, trying vainly to find some adequate explanation of what seemed to her now to have been most reprehensible and undignified behaviour.
“I thought – I saw – someone pass – through here, my Lord,” she said at last.
“Indeed. But then, of course, you have already heard that this part of the house is haunted. You must beware of the ghosts at Mandrake.”
He spoke lightly and yet she felt that there was a serious warning in his tone and her eyes dropped before his.
A Hazard of Hearts Page 12