Midnight at Mallyncourt

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Marvelous. Now we can relax. You must tell me all about Edward. Is he superb in bed? He’s such a cold, formidable creature, so aloof—I’ve often wondered how he’d be as a lover. Quite exciting, I imagine. Do sit down, Jenny dear. Shall I ring for tea? It’s going to be so nice to have someone to chat with. We must plan things, pet. I think we should give a ball in your honor—”

  “No tea, thank you. I think I’ll go on up to my room.”

  “Yes, of course, you must be exhausted. It’s been a trying day. Well, luv, we’ll get together later. I’m serious about that ball. It’s been a long time since we’ve had any festivity at Mallyncourt, and I’m sure Uncle James will agree to it just to please me, even though he won’t be able to come down himself—”

  I smiled politely. “Good night, Vanessa.”

  “’Night, luv,” she said sweetly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I took my leave of her, making my way slowly toward the back of the house. Many of the candles had been extinguished, and the hallways were dim. I passed a footman. He nodded, moving on toward the drawing room with his candle snuffer. Reaching the wide back hall, I paused, not quite ready to go back up to my room. I was tense and over-stimulated, and I knew it would be impossible to sleep for some time. The hall was icy, filled with the smells of damp stone and dust and ancient, fraying cloth. The tapestries covering the walls billowed gently with a soft, flapping noise. Candles threw long shadows across the bare stone floor. I decided to go outside for a while. An evening stroll might relax me.

  Finding a door near the west end of the hall, I stepped out onto the veranda. Paved with flagstones, it extended the length of the house in back with swirled brown stone pillars supporting the low roof. Across the stone balustrade I could see the immense back lawn, gilded with moonlight. Dark leaves rustled. A bird warbled sleepily in one of the trees. Leaving the veranda, I strolled across the grass, my satin skirt billowing against my legs. The sky was an ashy gray, and moonlight spilled over the dark clouds building up around the moon. It was a world of black, brown, silver, gray, with only the faintest suggestion of green. Nearing the line of shrubbery at the foot of the lawn, I turned and looked back at the house. Mallyncourt was a towering brown-black mass, shrouded in shadows, with hazy orange-gold squares where candles burned in windows.

  Life-sized marble statues stood at various points along the shrubbery, mellowed with age, more gray than white, sad sentinels with broken bodies and sightless eyes. Finding a white marble bench, I sat down, oblivious to the damp and the icy chill that caressed my bare arms and shoulders. I wondered if Edward was still in the muniments room, going over the estate books and domestic accounts, and I wondered if he was pleased with the way I had handled myself at dinner. I hoped so. For purely professional reasons, I told myself. I had been hired to perform a role, and I intended to perform as skillfully as I was able to. Personal feelings had nothing to do with it. Edward Baker was my employer, as he had so sternly pointed out, and I owed it to him to do my best, no matter how I might loathe him as an individual.

  I could hear water dancing in the wild, overgrown gardens in back of the lawn, beyond the line of shrubs. There were fountains there, I knew, and lily ponds and a hidden grotto. Water made splashing night music, and a frog croaked. It was growing late. I really should go back inside. Rising, I began to stroll slowly back toward the veranda, thinking about Vanessa now. I wondered how long we would be able to keep up that formal, strained politeness, how long the hostility could be kept contained behind a pretense of civility. Each of us knew exactly where the other stood, yet neither of us wanted to declare open warfare. When that happend, I would be ready. Four years in the theater, with its infighting and jealousies and daily bitchery had more than prepared me to hold my own.

  Lost in thought, I stepped into the nest of shifting black shadows that filled the veranda. My skirts rustled stiffly. My heels tapped noisily on the flagstones. I stopped, abruptly. My blood seemed to run cold. Someone was here. Someone was watching me. I could feel hostile eyes, sense a presence. Very little moonlight spilled over the balustrade. The veranda was dark, layer upon layer of shadows spilling down like a misty black fog. I peered down the length of it, my hand to my heart, trying to still the rapid palpitations. I thought I saw a darker black form leaning against the wall a few yards ahead, the outline barely visible, black on black. As I watched, the form moved. A loud scratching noise broke the silence. A match blossomed into sizzling yellow-orange flame, and the burning blossom moved, rising, touched the tip of a slender black cigar. Briefly, before the light vanished, I saw Lyman’s face. Heavy lids concealed his eyes as he concentrated on the cigar. I caught my breath, relieved and irritated at the same time as I approached him.

  “You—you might have let me known you were there!” I said crossly.

  “Did I frighten you?” he asked in a bored voice.

  “I thought—I don’t know what I thought! I didn’t expect anyone to be there—”

  “No need to be frightened, Mrs. Baker. Contrary to what your husband may have told you, I don’t leap out of the darkness to strangle lone women whenever the moon is full.”

  “He said no such thing. Don’t be absurd.”

  “I dare say he painted me black, though.”

  “How long have you been standing there?” I asked, ignoring his comment.

  “Half an hour or so.”

  “Then you were there when—”

  “When you came out. Yes. I was rather surprised to see you. I thought perhaps my wife had eaten you alive. You’ve going to be something of a trial to Vanessa, I’m afraid. She’s not accustomed to competition.”

  “I have no intentions of competing with her.”

  “Your mere presence will be a challenge to her,” he continued. “She’ll feel threatened, outdo herself in order to compensate. No, Vanessa’s not going to be easy to live with, I fear. Not that she ever was.”

  “I—this evening, before dinner—”

  “Yes?”

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was already sitting in the recess when you came into the gallery. I didn’t know what to—”

  “Forget it,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t want you to think—” For some reason I didn’t seem to be able to finish a sentence.

  “What could it possibly matter to you what I think, Mrs. Baker?”

  “It doesn’t!” I snapped.

  “Vanessa and I have no secrets from the world. Dveryone knows about us. Feel free to eavesdrop anytime you like.”

  I bit back the scathing retort that sprang to mind. I said nothing. The man was insufferable, insufferably rude. My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness now, and I could see his face, all shadowed planes, broad cheekbones prominent, eyes dark, half concealed by their heavy lids. Locks of raven hair fell in a fringe over his forehead, giving him the appearance of an evil monk. Even here, enclosed by darkness, I could sense the bull-like strength, the vitality. He was watching me, his mouth half curled in a mocking smile.

  “You resent me,” I said. “I know that. I know why, too.”

  “Resent you? No, Mrs. Baker, I pity you. You’ve no idea what you’ve let yourself in for.”

  “No?”

  “When you first arrived, I thought perhaps you knew nothing of the situation existing at Mallyncourt. I thought perhaps you might be innocent of any complicity in Edward’s plan. I see now that he must have told you everything. You couldn’t have married him for love. Edward’s incapable of love, and you quite plainly despise him.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so—”

  “Surprised? I may be just a crude farmer, Mrs. Baker, but I’m not quite as dense as you may think. I observe things. When I saw the two of you together tonight, I knew it wasn’t a love match on your part either. There was only one other explanation for your marrying him.”

  “How dare you say—”

  Lyman Robb took a long drag on the cigar, then hurled it over the balustrade. It ma
de a wide orange streak in the darkness, exploding on the ground in a shower of sparks.

  “I’ll say one more thing, Mrs. Baker, and I’d advise you to listen very carefully. I’ve worked all my adult life for my uncle’s estate—it’s been my life—and I don’t intend to stand by and let it fall into Edward’s hands. I’ll crush anyone who stands in my way.”

  “Is—is that a threat, Mr. Robb?”

  “You might say so—yes, you might say that. If you had any sense at all, you’d turn around and take the first coach back to London, but you won’t, I fear. That being the case, I’d advise you to stay out of my way. You’re much too attractive to be hurt.”

  “Do me a favor, Mr. Robb,” I said quietly.

  “Yes? What’s that?”

  “Go to Hades!”

  He looked stunned, startled, and then he threw his head back and burst into gales of laughter. It rose and fell. It rumbled, loud, unrestrained, welling up from his chest with splendid richness. I stood there trembling with fury as he gave vent to that boisterous sound. He cut if off abruptly. He took a deep breath. When he spoke, his rough voice was strongly laced with mocking amusement.

  “Ah, Jenny,” he said, “it appears you’re not quite the grand, dignified lady I took you to be. No indeed. There’s a bit of the fishwife in you, luv.”

  “I—I ought to slap your face!”

  “I shouldn’t,” he said. “You see, I don’t even pretend to be a gentleman. I’d slap you back, promptly, Probably hurl you over the balustrade as well.”

  “You—you—”

  “Run along, luv. Get back in the house. It’s much too chilly for you to be out here in that preposterous gown. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you caught your death of cold.”

  Although I was seething with rage, I moved down the veranda with cool, haughty dignity, followed by the sound of Lyman Robb’s hearty chuckle. Once inside, I walked quickly down the long hall with its patched and faded tapestries and up the wide stone steps built for the horses. In the vast, shadowy gallery, I paused, taking a few moments to compose myself before going on to the west wing apartment.

  Most of the candles had been extinguished in my bedroom, one burning in a silver holder beside the bed, another on the dressing table. The bedcovers had been turned back, the fire banked down, a mere heap of glowing red-orange coals. As I entered, I was momentarily dismayed to see a diminutive creature in black dress and white organdy apron climb up out of the large chair beside the fireplace. Her short blond curls were tousled. Her comic little face wore a timid, sleepy expression. She couldn’t have been much over fourteen, I thought.

  “I’m Susie, Ma’am,” she said, “’n I’m to be your abigail. Jeffers, ’e told me to wait ’ere in your room ’n ’elp you get ready for bed. I’ve never been an abigail before, Ma’am. I ’ope you’ll understand if I botch things up a bit till I get the ’ang of it.”

  “Hello, Susie,” I replied, warming to the child immediately. “You look sleepy.”

  “I am,” she admitted frankly, “but at least I’m not workin’ in the pantry any more. Most abigails ’re tall ’n skinny, usually French and very grand, like Miss Vanessa’s. ‘You’ll do in a pinch,’ Jeffers told me, ’n ’e said I was to please you or else. Said I wasn’t to chatter—oh dear, and here I am chatterin’ away. I’m the one who unpacked all your things ’n put ’em away earlier on,” she said proudly. “Shall I ’elp you undress now, Ma’am?”

  “I think I can manage by myself, Susie. It’s very late. Why don’t you run along to your room and go to sleep.”

  She seemed crestfallen. With her enormous blue eyes, turned-up nose and wide pink mouth, she looked like a worried pixie. There was a scattering of light tan freckles across her cheeks, and she spoke with a decided Cockney accent.

  “Oh dear, I ’ope I ’aven’t displeased you! Jeffers’ll be livid. ’E’s a terrible bully, Jeffers. ’E’ll send me back to the pantry—”

  “I’m delighted with you,” I told her. “Don’t you worry about Jeffers. I won’t let him bother you.”

  “Oh, Ma’am! You’re an angel! You truly are. I was so worried, you see. I wouldn’t be Miss Vanessa’s abigail for the world. I’d rather sweep chimneys. I was afraid you might be like ’er. There I go—chatterin’, chatterin’. If you don’t require my services, then I shall retire,” she added, striving for grandness with a most comic result.

  “Good night Susie.”

  The girl dropped a quick curtsy, her blond curls bobbing, her wide pink mouth splitting into a pixie grin. Beaming with delight, she scurried out of the room, black taffeta skirt crackling stiffly. I smiled, enchanted with her, pleased to have discovered at least one friendly person at Mallyncourt.

  Twenty minutes later, wearing only a low-cut petticoat with full ruffled skirt, I sat at the dressing table, brushing my hair. The long titian locks crackled and curled under the brush, redder than ever in the light of the candle. My green eyes were dark, my face composed, rather hard. My first night at Mallyncourt was over now, and I knew exactly what to expect in days to come. Lord Mallyn, Lyman, Vanessa: All were definitely going to present problems. No doubt I would earn every penny of that five hundred pounds before it was all over with, but I felt confident I could cope. Putting the brush aside, I stood up, weary, more than ready for some much needed sleep.

  “Tired?” Edward asked.

  I whirled around, startled. He was leaning in the doorway leading into the sitting room that connected our chambers, his shoulder propped casually against the door frame. Over his dark trousers and white shirt he wore a dressing robe, a splendid garment of heavy navy blue satin, tied loosely at the waist with a sash. One thick dark blond wave had fallen across his brow, and there was an odd expression in his eyes, one I hadn’t seen there before. I wondered how long he had been standing there, watching me.

  “I—I didn’t hear you,” I said.

  He smiled. It was a lazy smile. That expression in his eyes was disturbing. His lids drooped down sleepily. The sumptuous robe gleamed darkly. He was incredibly handsome, and he looked relaxed for the first time, not nearly so remote as he had been earlier.

  “Thought I’d drop in to say good night,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “You needn’t look so alarmed, Jennifer.”

  “I—I’m not alarmed.”

  That wasn’t true. This lazy, relaxed Edward was far more formidable than the aloof, distant stranger. I recognized that look in his eyes now, and I was acutely conscious of my half-clothed state. The petticoat left most of my bosom bare, and the waist was extremely snug, the full skirt aswirl with white cotton ruffles. Arms folded across his chest, his head tilted to one side, Edward gazed at me.

  “There are one or two things I thought I should mention,” he drawled. “About our sleeping arrangements. It’s perfectly customary for us to have separate chambers, but—uh—be sure you muss up both sides of the bed, be sure you dent both pillows. A servant will awaken you in the morning. Servants gossip. We wouldn’t want it to get around that we’re not—”

  “I quite understand,” I said stiffly.

  “You’re blushing, Jennifer.”

  “I—that door. There’s a lock on it, I trust?”

  He nodded, amused. “Think you’ll need one?”

  “I—I’m not sure.”

  “No?”

  “Mr. Baker—”

  “Don’t look so alarmed, Jenny,” he said casually. “We made a bargain, remember? Part of it was that I wouldn’t—uh—molest you. You needn’t fear. I’ve no intentions of raping you.”

  “I think you’d better—”

  “I’ll leave in a minute or so. No, rape isn’t my style. If I wanted you, I’m sure it wouldn’t be necessary.”

  Slowly, nonchalantly, he strolled across the room toward me, the skirt of his robe rustling with a soft, silken whisper. I watched, appalled, unable to move, to speak. He stopped directly in front of me, standing so near I could feel the warmth of his body, s
mell the tart, masculine cologne he’d used after shaving. Although I met his languid gaze with level eyes, I was trembling inside. My knees felt weak, and my pulses raced. Edward curled his lips into a sardonic, mocking smile.

  “Not necessary at all,” he murmured.

  He pulled me into his arms, lazily, indifferently. His mouth fastened over mine, and, as his arms tightened, he swung me around. Bending at the waist, I clung to his back, horrified by what was happening. The kiss was long, lazy, excruciatingly prolonged, and when he released me that mocking smile was still on his lips.

  “Just thought I’d prove my point,” he said. He yawned. “Good night, Jenny. You needn’t bother about locking the door. Your maidenhood is quite safe—at least for the time being.”

  He sauntered out of the room, passed through the sitting room and into his own chamber. I stood where he had left me, weak, shaken, unable to even think coherently. Soft candlelight washed over the white walls. A bit of wood snapped in the fireplace, sending a tiny shower of sparks onto the hearth. I could hear Edward moving about in his room, getting ready for bed. I don’t know how many minutes passed before I moved to the door. I closed it firmly. I shoved the lock in place. I blew out the candles and climbed into bed, but I didn’t close my eyes. It was a long, long time before I finally slept.

  Chapter Six

  THE RAIN poured as it had been pouring for three days, a pounding, swirling gray mass, lashing the windows, making its own monotonous music. Seemingly endless, it caused nerves to fray, tempers to grow short, and Mallyncourt was like a solitary brown island, cut off from the rest of the world, surrounded by the ceaseless, shimmering waves of water that broke against it with such constant fury. The house was cold, damper than ever. The chimneys wouldn’t draw properly. The smell of smoke hung in the air. I sat at the side of Lord Mallyn’s bed, examining my cards. He waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the large wooden tray we used for a table. I smiled and placed my cards face up on the table.

  “I win,” I said.

  Lord Mallyn looked at the cards, bristled, lowered his brows fiercely and then swept the tray off the bed in one mighty shove. It clattered to the floor. Cards rattled loudly, flew in the air and settled on the carpet like brittle leaves. He glared at me. I gazed at him calmly, totally unperturbed. We had been playing cards together every afternoon for over a week now, and he had won only two games. I refused to let him win merely in order to humor him, and when I caught him cheating I was quite adamant. Lord Mallyn was, I think, secretly delighted, but he was a sore loser nevertheless.