Midnight at Mallyncourt

by Jennifer Wilde

  “It’s a shame we’re not playing for money,” I remarked.

  “Why’s that!” he barked.

  “If we were, I’d be a very wealthy woman.”

  “You think so, dearie?”

  “My dear Lord Mallyn, I know so.”

  Brows lowered, eyes snapping furiously, mouth screwed up in disgust, he told me in no uncertain terms that I was a scheming minx, a female card sharp and a rotten sport to boot, adding that he rued the day I came to plague him with my detestable presence.

  “I’m not particularly fond of cards,” I said calmly. “I’m quite willing to end these games. I find them rather a bore, if you want to know the truth of the matter. I only play because you insist.”

  “Bore! You find me a bore!”

  “I find the games a bore,” I replied. “You, I find a thoroughly wretched scoundrel who can’t abide to lose. Just because you’re old and ill doesn’t give you the right to—”

  “Do you realize who you’re talking to!”

  “Quite,” I said.

  Flustered, irate, he continued to glare at me, but the dark brown eyes were twinkling with amusement now, and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on those thin white lips. Cheeks a bright pink, tarnished silver hair unruly, he looked like an incredibly aged, incredibly spoiled child pretending to be a wicked old rake. His costume was as outlandish as his conduct. His fine white muslin nightshirt frothed with ruffles at the throat and wrists, and the rich brown satin robe he wore over it had wide golden stripes. An enormous ruby ring sparkled on one finger, a great hunk of turquoise on another. Ching, Zang and Blossom, the Pekes, were three feathery balls of red-brown fur arranged about him, breathing asthmatically, round black eyes bored. Quite accustomed to their master’s eccentricities, not one of them had so much as lifted an inquiring gaze when he had tumbled the tray off the bed.

  “Well? Are you going to pick up the cards?” he grumbled.

  “I’m not a servant, Lord Mallyn. Furthermore, I have no intentions of playing another game with you this afternoon.”

  “No?”

  “Nor tomorrow afternoon either if you’re still in this foul mood.”

  “You do test my patience, girl,” Lord Mallyn said crossly. “I don’t know why I put up with you!”

  “Perhaps because no one else will put up with you,” I suggested.

  “You might at least keep a civil tongue in your head,” he pouted. “I don’t allow anyone else to talk to me like that.”

  “If you find my company so disturbing, perhaps I’d better—”

  “Don’t go yet! I want to chat a while.”

  I glanced at the clock over the mantle. “It’s time for your medicine, anyway,” I said. “I suppose I’d better stay and see that you take it. The red bottle, isn’t it?”

  “Damn you!” he snapped. “I don’t want to take that dreadful stuff! I won’t!”

  “It’s all the same to me,” I said. “If you want to remain ill, if you want to stay in bed for the rest of—”

  “Oh, all right! Give it here!”

  I handed him the bottle and a silver spoon. Lord Mallyn took his medicine, made a face, shook his head and then grimaced again. He was in a much better condition than he had been ten days ago, when I first saw him, and both doctors attending him were amazed. They predicted that, if he continued to improve, if he took his medicine, if he ate properly and gave up his daily bottle of port, he would be up and able to exercise a bit in another week or so. Lord Mallyn fretted and stormed, threw things at the servants, conducted himself in a shocking and thoroughly deplorable manner, but he gave up the port, he ate his vegetables and beef, he took his medicine. “I intend to get well just to spite those nephews of mine,” he had confided to me, and it looked as though he was truly on the road to recovery. His growing strength pleased the doctors, but it failed to elate Edward or Lyman either one.

  I was delighted with his improvement, delighted to see his strength returning, but I wondered what effect this would have on my bargain with Edward. When we made it, Edward had thought his uncle was on the verge of death, had hoped to convince him to draw up the will in his favor shortly before he died. Mallyncourt would belong to Edward then, and it wouldn’t matter one way or another when people discovered we weren’t really married. Now, however, it looked as though Lord Mallyn might indeed live for another ten years, and even if he did make Edward his heir, he would be certain to change the will when he learned the truth. I couldn’t stay at Mallyncourt indefinitely … well, that was Edward’s problem. I had agreed to carry on this masquerade for six weeks at the longest, and at the end of that time I intended to leave, five hundred pounds richer, no mater how things might stand with my ‘husband.’

  “Nasty, vile concoction,” Lord Mallyn muttered, handing bottle and spoon back to me. “I think they’re trying to poison me!”

  “Nonsense. You look better already. Are you warm enough? Shall I have one of the servants heat some bricks and wrap them in flannel to put under the covers? Would you like—”

  “Don’t fuss over me, girl!”

  “I merely want to see you get well, Lord Mallyn.”

  “Do you? Yes, I believe you actually do. I wonder why.”

  “Why? Because for all your temper tantrums, for all your outrageous conduct, I’m slightly fond of you. Slightly, I say. Don’t think that means I’ll let you push me around, though, because it doesn’t.”

  Lord Mallyn grinned. I moved across the room to one of the tall windows and, holding aside the yellow silk drape, peered out at the world of silver-gray frenzy. The thick window panes had a faint bluish tint, gleaming with slipping, sliding webs of raindrops. I could barely see the trees beyond, tormented green giants huddling in anguish as the rain continued to lash them.

  “What’s wrong?” the old man asked.

  “Wrong?” I turned, facing him. I forced a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Whatever put such an idea in your head?”

  “I haven’t lived for seventy years without picking up a bit of insight into human nature, girl! I’ve learned a thing or two about people. I know how to read ’em. You’re unhappy.”

  “Fiddlesticks,” I said, striving for lightness.

  “Is it that nephew of mine? Edward’s a cold one, no doubt about it. Incapable of showin’ emotion. Marryin’ him was a grave mistake, lass. I shouldn’t think he’d be able to make anyone happy.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “You’ve been married for—what? Just under a month now. A new bride should have a certain glow. You don’t, girl. And Edward—when he comes to see me he’s the same as ever—cold, cynical, perfectly groomed, perfectly composed. He doesn’t look like a man who’s just married a fascinating red-haired vixen. Me, I’d be burstin’ at the seams, grinning all over the place, filled with pride—”

  “Edward is—he just doesn’t show things,” I said nervously.

  “Is everything all right between the two of you?”

  “Of course it is. What a silly question.”

  “He mistreatin’ you? If he is, you just let me know! You’re too good for him, I’ve told you that before, and if he thinks—”

  “I think you’d better try to sleep now, Lord Mallyn. You need plenty of rest. Cook is preparing a special meal for you tonight, and when the footman brings it, I want you to eat every bite. If I hear you’ve been acting up again, I won’t play cards with you tomorrow.”

  Lord Mallyn scowled, but I could see that he was tired. He pulled the old patchwork quilt up over his chest, shoved Blossom out of the way and sank back against the cushions with a weary sigh. Those shrewd brown eyes were still regarding me with close scrutiny. I picked up one of the lovely jade ornaments, pretended to examine it, set it down, studied the collection of small ivory elephants herded on top of an ebony table inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  “It’s been dreary for you, girl, I know that,” Lord Mallyn remarked. “Somethin” of a strain as well—bein’ brought to a strange h
ouse, full of people you don’t know, playin’ nursemaid to a sick old man. No music, no laughter, no gaity. Any bride would find that depressin’, I imagine. Well, it’s going to change, lass.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’ve given Vanessa permission to go ahead with her plans for a ball. Invitations have already been sent out. It’ll be held two weeks from now, and you know what? I’m going to bloody well put in an appearance myself. Just you wait!”

  “You’d better go to sleep now,” I said crisply. “I’ll be back to see you again before I go down to dinner. Behave yourself, hear?”

  “Ah, Jenny, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I envy that lad, I do. He doesn’t deserve a wife like you! I’ve told him so repeatedly.”

  Rain slapped viciously against the windowpanes as I moved slowly down the hall. I paused to look down at the front gardens, a writhing mass of colors tossed in the wind, red, blue, violet, gold, yellow, half-veiled by the rain. I was restless, wondering what I was going to do with the rest of the day. The past ten days had been dreary. Edward was distant and polite, avoiding me except when it was necessary for us to be together, never once referring to that lazy, prolonged kiss our first night here, never once indicating that he had any desire for another. Lyman was gone all day, working, working harder than ever since the rain, afraid the fields might flood. Vanessa was completely occupied with young Lyle Radcliff. He was a handsome youth, barely twenty, obviously head over heels in love with her. They had gone out riding every day, and when the rain made that impossible he came to visit her. They were down in her private sitting room now, amusing themselves. Lettice stayed shut up in the nursery with Miss Partridge most of the time. I had seen her only once or twice since that unpleasant little scene in the drawing room when she refused to play the piano.

  I had been at Mallyncourt for ten days now, filling each day as best I could. I played cards with Lord Mallyn. I explored the house. I took books from the large, beautiful formal library and read them in my room. I wrote long letters to Laverne. I chatted with Susie, a lively sprite bursting with gossip and saucy, audacious observations. The girl worshipped me, fussing over me like a hen, keeping my things in perfect order, snubbing the other maids who, she felt, were now beneath her notice. I learned quite a lot about the household from Susie, and none of it made me feel any less insecure. Although the past ten days had been serene on the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air. It seemed to hang over Mallyncourt like an invisible gas that would soon explode.

  I wandered slowly down the long gallery, all dim and gray now with no candles burning, the rain pounding against the hundreds of panes in the recesses. The mat of woven rushes crackled under my feet. The majestic portraits, dark, almost devoid of color in this half light, seemed to stare down at me accusingly. What are you doing here? they seemed to ask. Long gray shadows spread across the floor, nestled in the corners. There was a strong odor of damp stone, of cold ashes. It was barely two o’clock. What should I do? I couldn’t wander in the gardens. I didn’t feel like reading. I had written a lengthy letter to Laverne only the day before. I was at a loss, depressed by the rain, lonely, wishing something, anything, would happen to break the monotony of the past ten days. I paused to gaze up at one of the Vandykes, studying it without really seeing it.

  As I stood there, listening to the violent splatter of rain against glass and stone, I was gradually aware of other noises. There was a sound of scuffling, a smothered giggle, a shuffle of footsteps. I whirled around just in time to see Susie emerging from one of the recesses. The white organdy cap she wore atop her shiny gold curls had slipped to one side, and her organdy apron was crushed. Cheeks flushed a bright pink, she dropped a quick curtsy, black taffeta skirts crackling. Then she giggled again. Her expression was undeniably sheepish, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see one of the footmen step out of the recess behind her. I recognized him immediately. He was George, a husky lad with shaggy blond hair and roguish brown eyes who, Susie had confided, was ever so masterful and excitin’. Cheeky, too, she added. Very. George looked rather worried now as he tugged at his dark blue tunic to straighten it.

  “Afternoon, Miss Jenny,” Susie said brightly.

  “Susie, you—you startled me.”

  “Did I? Me ’n George, we was—uh—I was ’elpin’ ’im—”

  “Indeed?”

  Susie grinned. George looked more worried than ever. I smiled, amused at the pair of them.

  “You won’t tell Jeffers, will you?” Susie asked.

  “Of course not,” I assured her.

  George frowned, muttered something about getting back to his post and moved briskly toward the wide steps. Susie smiled, straightening her cap, sighing contentedly as he disappeared.

  “Idn’t he somethin’?” she said. “Tell me, Miss Jenny, ’ave you ever seen such ’andsome eyes, such broad shoulders? I go limp all over, just thinkin’ about ’im.”

  “It appears, Susie, that you’re not nearly as young and innocent as I first assumed.”

  “What a shockin’ thing to say! I’m a good girl, Miss Jenny, but I’m pushin’ seventeen now, and it’s ’igh time I started thinkin’ about gettin’ myself a ’usband.”

  “You hope to get George?”

  She nodded, grinning. “’E’s a regular stallion, that ’un is. All the other maids, they hurl themselves at ’im, chase after ’im somethin’ awful, but me, I use strategy. I ignore ’im. I pretend I wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with ’im on a bet. It aggravates ’im no end!”

  “You weren’t ignoring him a few minutes ago,” I remarked.

  “’E’s such a brute! I finished ironin’ your things, Miss Jenny, and I was walkin’ along, mindin’ my own business when he leaped out and grabbed me, pulled me into the recess. If you ’adn’t come along when you did, Lord knows what might-a ’appened—” She sighed again, dreamy-eyed as she contemplated that delicious eventuality.

  I knew I should scold the girl, but it was impossible. In just this short time Susie had already captivated me. She was rather bossy, telling me what I should wear, when, what jewelry should go with it, how I should arrange my hair and so on, taking the duties of an abigail quite seriously, feeling it her own personal responsibility to see that I was turned out in grand style. I indulged her, finding it both amusing and touching. If the girl wanted to spend her spare time setting traps for the footman, that was fine with me. In a way I rather envied her. Things were so simple and clear cut for a girl like Susie.

  “I guess you’ve been playin’ cards with the old terror—uh—with Lord Mallyn again,” she said. “I admire you for it, Miss Jenny. Me, I wouldn’t go near ’im! Once I ’ad to take ’is tray in to ’im, and you know what ’e did? ’E pinched me! I got out-a there quick, I don’t mind tellin’ you. A girl idn’t safe.”

  “He loves to tease the servants,” I told her.

  “Well, he can just tease someone else! What are you going to do for the rest of the day, Miss Jenny? I ’ope you’re not goin’ to sit around and read. It idn’t ’ealthy, all that readin’.”

  “I don’t know. I—I think I’ll explore the east wing. It’s the only part of the house I haven’t—”

  I cut myself short, puzzled by the sudden change in Susie’s expression. Her cheeks had gone a bit pale, and her enormous blue eyes looked worried. A frown creased her brow.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t, Miss Jenny,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t what?”

  “Go into th’ east wing. It—it idn’t—” She paused, the frown deepening. “Me, I don’t believe in ghosts, I’ve got too much sense, but just the same—well, I’ve ’eard them noises myself.”

  “What are you talking about, Susie?”

  “Cook, now, she claims it’s ’aunted for sure, but then Cook’s always readin’ them Tarot cards and talkin’ about spirits ’n things. None of the servants’ll step foot in the east wing since Betty ’ad ’er fright. I
t’s all closed up, you see, the furniture covered with long white sheets, dust ’n cobwebs all over th’ place, and one night—”

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “Well, the servants’ quarters are up in the attic, you know—we ’ave rooms directly over the east wing, and for over a year we’ve been ’earin’ these strange noises—footsteps in the middle of th’ night, crazy laughter, real spooky noises, Miss Jenny. I’m not lyin’. One night, oh, it must-a been six months ago, Betty, one of th’ parlor maids, she was comin’ in late—she’d been out behind the stables with Bertie Rawlins, one of th’ grooms—and, fearin’ someone might see ’er, she decided to come up the back stairs in the east wing. Just as she reached the landin’ on this story, she ’eard that laughter. She stopped, terrified. Then she ’eard them footsteps and saw somethin’—somethin’ white and misty, floatin’ down the ’all. She ’ad ’ysterics. Took ’er three days to get over it.”

  “And?”

  “Mister Lyman, ’e was furious. ’E shook ’er, told ’er to stop babblin’ like an idiot, said ’e’d sack ’er if she didn’t come to ’er senses. Betty never said anything else, she was too scared, but—well, none of us care to go into the east wing.”

  “Do you still hear the noises?” I inquired.

  “Now ’n then,” she said, nodding. “They never occurred every night, you understand. Just—oh, maybe once or twice a week. Night before last Tillie swore she ’eard th’ footsteps again, but none of th’ rest of us did. I ain’t sayin’ the place is ’aunted, Miss Jenny, but—”

  “I’ll be careful,” I assured her.