After all, she told herself recklessly, I am probably doomed to Hell anyway. What does one more small sin matter?
"Very well. Wait outside for me while I change."
Henry obeyed so promptly and with such a beaming face that she realized what a nice boy he could be, under the right circumstances. She put on her oldest gown, suspecting it would probably sustain some damage.
The dress was certainly not improved by the activities of the succeeding hours. First she was taken to admire Henry's new velocipede, which he was allowed to ride indoors on wet days. The old castle had plenty of abandoned corridors suitable to this exercise, and it amused Marianne to think how shocked the former dukes would have been to see the boy racing at full speed along the passages where they had paced in solemn dignity. She even took a turn on the velocipede herself, with Henry shouting encouragement.
"I really think," she said, dismounting, "that I had better go and see if the Duchess needs me for anything."
"Oh, not yet!" Henry snatched her hand. "There are lots of things we haven't played. I want to show you my room."
Marianne was unable to resist his shining face. Besides, she was enjoying herself.
They climbed the endless flights of stairs that led to the upper regions, where the young were tucked away in the pious hope that they would be neither seen nor heard. It occurred to Marianne that M. Victor's room must be near that of his pupil. She hoped she would not see him. She did not mean to let the fear of such a meeting deter her, however; after all, she was the injured party.
Henry showed off his rooms with pardonable pride. They contained every comfort, and most of the luxuries, that money could provide. The night nursery was a cozy little chamber with a quaint turreted roof, hung all around with tapestries to keep off the chill. The former day nursery, which Henry preferred to call his schoolroom, had a pair of desks and a bookcase in one corner, but playroom might have been a better term, for the rest of the long, lofty chamber was crowded with an assortment of expensive toys, including the latest mechanical windup trains and fire engines. A huge wooden Noah's Ark contained almost as many pairs of animals as the original must have done; and Marianne was child enough to be enchanted with a large toy theater with curtains of real red velvet and enough wooden figures for an entire repertoire of Shakespeare. She wanted to play with this, but Henry dragged out boxes of lead soldiers and proposed a battle. They were in the middle of the last charge at Waterloo (Marianne, of course, had to take the French side) and she was so absorbed in avoiding Wellington's assault that she failed to hear the door open. Looking up through her tumbled hair she saw M. Victor.
Marianne scrambled to her feet. Victor stepped forward to offer his hand; she ignored it. The smile faded from the tutor's face, to be replaced by a singularly ugly look Marianne wondered how she could ever have thought him pleasant or amusing. He showed all the signs of the dissipation Henry had accused him of: sunken eyes, pasty complexion, and a perceptible tremor in the hand he now withdrew.
"What do you want?" Henry demanded. "We are busy. Go away."
"I am sorry to interrupt Your Grace in such an edifying Sunday activity," said Victor, with a sneer. "But Miss Ransom is wanted."
"I want her!"
"Sure, and you'll not be the only one! I was referring," Victor explained, smirking at Marianne, "to her noble Grace. Now you can't be letting her wait, can you?"
"Certainly not," Marianne said coldly. "Henry, I have enjoyed this. Tomorrow, after your lessons, perhaps we can finish the battle. This time the French may win after all!"
Henry's sulky look was replaced by a smile. "No, they won't."
"We shall see. Thank you for letting me come."
She walked straight toward Victor, whose outstretched arm barred the door. At the last possible moment he stepped aside and followed her out into the hall.
"Will you not wait a tiny little minute? It's wanting to speak with you I am."
"I have nothing to say to you," Marianne snapped, continuing on her way.
"Have you not then? Yet we could be the best of friends, I'm thinking; having so much in common, one might say."
Trotting along beside her he put out his hand with what he obviously believed to be an ingratiating smile.
"We have nothing whatever in common," Marianne replied. "And as for being friends, that is not only ludicrous, it is insulting. I warn you" – as he seemed to be about to take her by the arm – "if you touch me I will complain at once, not to Her Grace, who must not be troubled with such things, but to Mr. Carlton. He will see that you are dismissed, and possibly thrashed."
Victor looked as if he might have said more, but Marianne did not wait to hear it. Increasing her pace, she went on as rapidly as she could. The tutor did not follow.
Once she was out of sight, she paused for a few moments to compose herself, since she did not want the Duchess to ask the cause of her flushed lace. She was half tempted to carry out her threat of telling Carlton. Surely the tutor was not the right person to be in charge of a boy like Henry. Yet she hesitated to complain of him. It seemed so mean-spirited.
When she reached the Duchess's room she found Dr. Gruffstone pacing along the corridor, glancing impatiently at his watch.
"Is something wrong?" Marianne asked. "I came as soon as I could."
"No, no. Her Grace simply wondered what had become of you, and since she is not to suffer the slightest worry I sent the servants to look for you. Will you sit with her awhile? She has been resting and now wants to be amused. You may even play a game of backgammon if you promise to lose badly, so there will be no suspense to the play."
"Of course," Marianne said, returning his smile. "I will go in to her at once."
She found the room in semidarkness and at first thought the Duchess had gone to sleep. However, she roused when Marianne tiptoed in. In a dazed, drowsy voice, she said, "I have had the most beautiful dream… At least Horace would call it a dream. David… He smiled at me and held out his hands and called me 'Honor.' He was the only one who ever called me that."
"Dreams can be very real," Marianne said gently. "Would you like to sleep again?"
"It was not a dream. I saw him as plainly as I see you." Marianne did not point out that in the shadowy twilight she must appear insubstantial and ghostly too. The Duchess went on, "I could even make out the furnishings of the room where he was. It was a shabby, homely little place, a bedchamber of some kind. There was rain pouring down the windowpane. Blue hangings on the bed… Or were they gray?" The Duchess sighed. "It is fading now, but it was very real."
A superstitious shiver ran down Marianne's limbs.
"It is cool here," she said. "Shall I put more wood on the fire, and light the lamps? What can I do to amuse you? The doctor says we may play backgammon if you would like."
"What, on Sunday?" The Duchess laughed. "Horace is a frightful old pagan, but I know better. Yes, light the lamps if you will, child. Tea will be coming up shortly."
Marianne poked up the fire and lighted all the lamps she could find. With the curtains drawn the room took on a warm, cheerful look that was much more to her taste.
The Duchess also seemed more cheerful, though she complained, half jokingly, of having a hard time keeping her eyes open.
"It must be the weather. The sound of rain always makes one sleepy. Never mind, a cup of tea will wake me up. Tell me what you have been doing all day."
Marianne gave her a spirited account of the battle of Waterloo and the activities that had preceded it. The Duchess laughed aloud at her description of herself on the velocipede, her knees high, scraping first one wall and then the other as she raced.
"I know I should not have allowed the Duke to play on Sunday," she said apologetically. "But I did want to be friends with him, and he seemed at loose ends -"
"And that wretched Irishman sleeping off his overindulgence," the Duchess broke in. "Don't look so surprised, child; I am not incompetent yet! I began to question his influence over Henry last
time I was here, and what I have seen on this visit confirms my feelings that he must be replaced. Don't apologize for breaking the Sabbath. You committed a minor sin in doing an act of kindness, which is much more important. Now tell me… Ah, here is Rose with our tea."
Marianne was happy to see that the tray the maid carried appeared to be heavily laden. She had worked up an appetite playing with Henry.
All at once the maid came to a dead stop, her eyes bulging. The cups and saucers on the tray rattled. Marianne jumped up and seized it as it tilted; she was just in time to prevent the contents from sliding off onto the floor.
She put the tray on a table. "What on earth is the matter. Rose?" she asked.
The maid tried to reply. The muscles of her throat bulged, but no sound came from her parted lips. Her staring eyes were fixed on some object behind Marianne.
Marianne turned, following the gaze, which was almost as explicit as a pointing finger.
The wall between the windows blazed with letters of fire. A large oil lamp on the table below them allowed her to read the message they spelled.
"The time is near. Come to me then."
The maid began to scream. Marianne swayed, not through faintness, but through indecision. She did not know whether to run to the Duchess, or silence the shrieking maid, or summon help, or seize the nearest cloth and wipe out the fiery letters… assuming they could be wiped out by something so ordinary as a cloth.
Before she could decide, the door burst open and Dr. Gruffstone appeared. She had never admired his quickness so much; a sudden bound took him to Rose; he slapped her briskly on the cheek. Her shrieks stopped. Then the doctor turned to his patient.
"It is all right, Horace," the Duchess said calmly. "I am happy. I am at peace."
Indeed she looked quite beautiful. Smiling, flushed, except for her snow-white hair she might have been a young girl.
Gruffstone turned to Marianne.
"Watch that fool woman," he snarled, gesturing at Rose. "She is about to swoon. Get her into the next room, don't let her talk to the others." As she spoke he pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and with one vicious sweeping gesture removed the first line of the glowing inscription. The second followed, just as a rush of footsteps heralded the arrival of Carlton.
"What in heaven's name -"
Rose proved the doctor a true prophet by collapsing into an untidy heap on the floor. Marianne bent over her.
"What -" Carlton began again.
"My smelling salts are in the cabinet," the Duchess said calmly. "Do what you can for her, Horace, and then please join me in a cup of tea."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The hour that followed was one Marianne would never forget. Drinking her tea, the Duchess contributed little; she sat smiling with dreamy detachment while the others argued about what had happened.
Rose had been given a sleeping draft and was snoring on a sofa in the boudoir.
"Though heaven knows it is only postponing the inevitable," the doctor groaned, running his hand through his wildly ruffled hair. "The moment the wretched woman wakes up she will tell every servant in the house what she saw."
"If you had not seen it too, I would think -" Carlton began. He broke off, with a sidelong look at the Duchess.
"There are enough witnesses," the doctor said gloomily.
"Then someone wrote it while the Duchess was asleep," Carlton said. "There was a period of time after you left, Gruffstone, and before Miss Ransom came in."
"I was outside the door the entire time," the doctor said.
"What about the secret passages?" Marianne asked. "The Duke said…" Then she remembered her promise to Henry and could say no more. "However," she went on, "the wall was unmarked when I lighted the lamps. I am sure of that, because one lamp, one of the largest, was on the table just below that section of the paneling."
A long discouraged silence followed, while they stared at one another. Marianne felt slightly sick. She knew the finger of suspicion pointed at her. She could have written the message in phosphorous paint, or some similar chemical, while the Duchess dozed. Only she knew she had not done so.
Finally the Duchess spoke. "You are all behaving very foolishly. There is nothing to be afraid of. Go down to dinner, all of you. I would like to be alone for a while. After you have dined, Roger, will you come up to me? I will not keep you long, I promise."
The dismissal could not be ignored. Carlton rose uncertainly, and Marianne followed suit. The doctor remained seated.
"Honoria," he began.
"Dear old friend." She held out her hand and the doctor took it in his. "I am perfectly well. I only want to think about… matters I have put off too long. You may come and say good night, later."
The doctor raised her hand to his lips. When he turned away Marianne saw his eyes held an unnatural shine, as if they were filled with tears.
Not until she glanced at herself in the mirror in her own room did Marianne realize she was still wearing the dusty, crumpled frock in which she had played with Henry. She dropped wearily into a chair. This latest and most bewildering phenomenon had exhausted her strength. She did not know what to make of it, and she was too tired to think.
If she had obeyed her own desires she would have remained in her room. However, the Duchess's command had been explicit, and besides, not to put too fine a face upon it, she was hungry.
Dinner could not be called a success. The doctor spoke but little; Carlton made inane comments at random, and several times Marianne caught him staring wildly at her, as if she had changed into a person he had never seen before. Not feeling in spirits enough for the finish of Wuthering Heights (she had peeked at the ending and read just enough to curdle her blood), she went to the library to find another book. Rejecting any work of fiction that smacked even slightly of the sensational, she selected a volume of
Carlyle's essays and went dispiritedly up to her room.
The volume did what she hoped it would do; it put her to sleep, in spite of a rising wind that made uncanny sounds behind the drawn draperies. And if a hand opened her door and a shadowed face looked in, Marianne was unaware of it.
The wind that had howled so drearily had not been an evil portent but the reverse. Not only did Marianne sleep through the night, but she awoke to find her room bright with sunlight. The lift to her spirits was tremendous. She dressed as quickly as she could and without waiting for breakfast put on her coat and ran outside.
The air was cold, and frost whitened the grass. Puddles of water had fringes of ice. It would have taken more than cold to discourage Marianne; she felt like an animal freed from a narrow cage. Swinging her arms and striding briskly, she set off down the driveway. As soon as she was out of sight of the house she broke into an undignified run, for the sheer joy of it. The distance from the front steps to the iron gates was a good mile.
Still exhilarated, she turned onto the footpath and walked toward the village.
The smoke of the cooking fires rose up into a cloudless sky. There were few people abroad; early as it was for the pampered upper classes, most of the villagers had been up for hours and had gone to their work. Marianne saw only a few housewives, baskets on their arms, on their way to market, and one gentleman enjoying his morning constitutional.
She had intended to go as far as the church – for no particular reason, just to have a goal in mind – but the sight of the stroller ahead of her made her self-conscious. She turned and started back.
Before long she heard rapid footsteps approaching; then around a curve in the drive came Carlton, trotting along like a man who is late for an urgent appointment. He was hatless; his dark hair blew in the wind. Marianne was about to hail him with a joking reference to his passion for early-morning exercise when he caught sight of her and came to an abrupt halt. A formidable scowl darkened his face. "Where have you been?" he demanded.
"Walking. The sun was so welcome I could not wait to enjoy it."
"You have no business rushing out l
ike that. If one of the footmen had not seen you I would have had no idea where you were."
"Why should you concern yourself about my whereabouts?" Marianne demanded. "Ah, I know; you thought I had run off with the Duchess's jewels. You suspect me of every mean and contemptible act; why not that?"
As her anger grew, Carlton became cooler. He smiled in a superior way and replied, "Oddly enough – that had not occurred to me. I hope you have no such scheme in mind; I am far too busy to be forever searching your room."
"I don't see you actively engaged in anything," Marianne retorted. "In fact, I wonder that a busy lawyer like yourself can spare so much time for one client. Shouldn't you be in your office?"
"As a matter of fact, I am leaving almost at once."
"Oh," Marianne said flatly.
"But I shall return."
"When?"
"Ah, you do care!" Carlton exclaimed, clasping his hands in mock rapture. "I don't know when, Miss Ransom. Hopefully in two or three days. Now I want you to promise me something before I go."
"What?"
"You are monosyllabic today – and wary, too. Couldn't you have said, 'Anything,' instead of pronouncing that flat, skeptical 'what?' I merely want your word that you will not leave the house until I return."
"Impossible! I will lose my mind cooped up any longer. Surely a ride, with one of the grooms -"
"No. Not even a walk in the garden. I have postponed discussing this matter with you because… Well, for a variety of reasons which need not concern you. But now I must speak out. There is a stranger staying at the Devenbrook Arms."
"The man I saw this morning?"
"Ah, you saw him. Then it was not Bagshot?"
Marianne gasped. Strolling side by side, they had reached the castle; in her agitation she turned away from it and began pacing back and forth.
"I… I cannot say for certain. I saw the man at a distance; his back was to me and he wore a broad-brimmed hat and a long cloak."
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